


for we did not meet in the holy night (but in the shameful day)

by vandenburg



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, fuck sazed (as always), just a fun soulmate au that ran away with me, no one is cishet in this, some depression but not by name, the part that has explicit domestic abuse (very short) has trigger warnings before and after, tw for some domestic abuse, very brief suicide ideation: blink and you miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 02:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12695409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandenburg/pseuds/vandenburg
Summary: Soulmate AU for the soul. The Grim Reaper has no time for love, even if he is slightly worried about the safety of his match. Taako tries to pretend his marriage isn't a PR scam.





	1. like two doomed ships that pass in the night

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be self-indulgent and at a maximum of 4k words. Instead it turned out massive but still self-indulgent, which means that while I have really enjoyed writing it and still think it's a fun, little piece to read, it's intended as nothing more. If you want to read good plots with incredible writing and so on, then read fics like "Luster" or "Formaldehyde and Seek". I don't aspire to write something incredible here, but I still wanted to share it with you all because of how much time I did put into writing it, and because I thought you might appreciate the light read. It has been separated into parts simply for readability.
> 
> The title of the whole work, as well as the title of each part, has been taken from Oscar Wilde's "The Ballad of Reading Gaol", my favorite poem.

The marks appear the moment Kravitz steps into his human flesh. Skin contracts on his left ring finger to form a perfectly circular indent. On every part of him south of his chin, he is covered in marks. It makes him look like a ladybug, the haphazard bruises forming a nonsensical pattern across his body. He takes a moment to appreciate them, eyes lingering on the marks that have turned nearly black, before he summons his clothing – immaculate and black with a hint of purple. 

Somewhere on the material plane, someone else bears the original artwork on their skin. Kravitz’ is a lousy copy. He has not slipped on a wedding band, and he has not felt the lips that left those love bites.

It’s a known fact of the universe that those destined to be together are bound physically as well as spiritually. The magic involved is grander than any of the gods, though understandably many mortals believe that the bond exists based on the wish of the gods. Kravitz, as an emissary of one of these gods and not a mortal himself, knows that it is not so, and perhaps that is why he regards the bond with such reverence – a reverence akin to the one he shows his boss. Perhaps it is because he never thought he would be gifted a bond.

Though he has served the Raven Queen for centuries, the bond only made itself known twenty years ago. The bond only manifests once both parties have reached adulthood, but Kravitz still feels odd about suddenly sharing his scars with a stranger much younger and more _alive_ than he. He has spent many nights tracing the lines down his chest, wondering if his match already hates him for marring their skin. If his match does not hate him already, he is sure that they will when they realize that he has no intention of finding them.

Romance should have no place in the mind of the Grim Reaper.

Kravitz does his best to whisk any daydreams away as soon as they appear, and he refuses to inspect the bond closer. The magic lingers just below the occasional marks (scratches, bruises, cuts) and it would not be far-fetched to believe that Kravitz has the magical capabilities to follow it straight to his match. So, he looks at them like a farsighted man reading the newspaper without glasses, revels in the fact that he can have them at all, and sends out a soundless apology for the lover he will let down every day of their life.

Today is an improvement, therefore. The wedding band and the hickeys signal that his match has given up on waiting and has decided to take their own fate into their hands. Good. Kravitz wishes them all the best and only feels a tinge of disappointment for not being the one to have worshipped his match’s body.

 

***

 

Taako wakes up sore and sated, body starfished on the king-sized bed in a Goldcliff honeymoon suite. The silk hugs his body and the sun filters gently, lazily, through the lacy curtains. Even this removed from the street below, he can hear the rush of people and faint chiming of bells. Burying himself further into the silk, he reaches for Sazed. His husband. Istus, that’s weird to think.

The wedding and all that was Sazed’s idea. He was worried the press wouldn’t take them seriously as a couple if people started suspecting they didn’t have the bond. They don’t, and they both know that, but they would instantly lose their “it” couple status if their fans knew. It was a good enough argument to convince Taako, who’s never been much a romantic anyway. Fate deciding who you should end up with seems a little authoritative, and Taako hates authority. Nobody decides what Taako should do except Taako. Plus, he’s not interested in his career taking any hits.

Sazed is spread out similarly to Taako, the huge bed big enough for two orcs to lie comfortably next to each other, and when Taako attempts to haul him closer, Sazed refuses to move. It forces Taako to curl up against Sazed’s side, which isn’t bad in and of itself, but the odd, passive rejection stings a little. Taako forces the hurt aside, silently scoffing at himself for being so emotional, and instead wraps a bare leg around Sazed’s. His fingers trail down Sazed’s chest, which should be covered in three vertical lines running from just below his pecks to his naval. Like Taako’s is.

Honestly, maybe the reason Taako hasn’t run into his match is that they’re dead. He’s considered that. The bond doesn’t really tell you anything about the status of your match, and if Taako’s is sewn up but in the ground somewhere, well, he wouldn’t know.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Taako’s wrapped around a handsome guy, who spent the whole night worshipping him like a god. That’s all a guy can ask for.

To punctuate his conclusion, Taako leans closer and places a kiss on Sazed’s throat. Only a few minutes later, they’re once more entangled, heavy breaths mingling, Taako’s hair brushing against his husband’s chest. Without thinking, he traces the shapes of his match’s scars with his lips, kissing wrongly smooth skin as if the touch will bring them forth.

When it doesn’t, Taako focuses on how Sazed says his name like it’s a prayer.

 

***

 

The love bites slowly wane over time. Kravitz keeps an eye on them. Every time he wears his flesh, he takes a moment to update himself before he covers himself. The day they have disappeared for good, he doesn’t know how to feel. Bones hollow, he follows his queen’s orders while his mind is on a different plane altogether. 

Other love bites appear here and there the next weeks. They are placed like afterthoughts, and sometimes in placements embarrassingly visible – almost as though they have been carefully curated there. Kravitz takes to wearing scarves, ones that Istus has knitted him centuries ago. If the goddesses notice, they make no comment. For that, Kravitz is grateful. He does not wish to discuss his situation with the master of death and the master of time. His little life seems benign next to them.

Kravitz has never noticed time like he does now. Every day is significant, a chance to catch a glimpse of the life of his match. His own skin is impossible to damage. That is, he can typically heal any slash or cut within the second it is applied to his dead, not-really-there flesh, and so whatever lingering mark will always be a result of his bond. He feels terrible for having his scars at all, for without them his match might believe that they were born without a bond at all. It would make life easier for them. Unfortunately, the cause his of death is one that he cannot banish. Like the bond with his match, it is too strong for even the Raven Queen’s magic to corrupt.

About three months after what Kravitz supposes was the wedding night (time is perceived differently on the astral plane, though it passes at the same rate as any other plane), the love bites stop arriving. For a long time, his skin remains relatively smooth, save a few, short-lived scorch marks on his fingers or superficial cuts on his hands. These wounds make him ponder, despite his resolute decision to not seek out his match at any cost. What could cause these frequent but minor injuries, always focused on their hands?

Kravitz is reaping the soul of a necromancer, eyes burning with righteous fire and body alight with the power of a goddess, when he realizes. The necromancer’s lair is small and dug into a cave wall, but it has all necessities. Including simple kitchen appliances. Kravitz splits the fabric of reality and tosses the soul into the astral plane, where it will automatically be swept off to the Stockade. Then he approaches the kitchen area and gingerly picks up a knife. It’s rusty and simple, but it is clear to Kravitz that he holds the solution to the mystery: his match is a cook. The scorch marks tell tales of skin too close to heated iron, and the superficial cuts are results of chopping too carelessly.

Though the knife has nothing directly to do with his match, Kravitz pockets it.

 

***

 

The restaurant is bustling with life. Opening night is a fucking success. Taako whistles to himself as he completes order upon order at lightning speed, incorporating his magic so that he works just as efficiently as a whole kitchen staff. Servers, all awed by their boss, mill about, and out in the restaurant itself Sazed is playing host. Something bothers Taako about that, but he can’t pin it down. The restaurant bears Taako’s name anyway, and everyone is sending compliments to the chef, so it’s not like Sazed is taking any credit that isn’t due. Still… he was a little eager to take the job for someone who’s supposed to be supportive but still let Taako live his own damn life. Just because they’re married it doesn’t mean that they’re attached by the hip. Sazed doesn’t seem to know that, but whatever, Taako’s just got that effect on people he supposes, and it’s only been three months of marriage. They’re in that honeymoon phase everyone gushes about, and the sex is fucking fantastic, so Taako will let it slide for now.

Yes, for now Taako will focus on perfecting every dish he sends out of the kitchen so his newly established restaurant will be fully booked the next five years.

As a former TV host and famous personality, he has plenty of advantages that other new restauranteurs don’t, and he can hear the chatter of tabloid reporters from his position by the stew. It’s not hard to get attention. The problem is to _keep_ it. But as long as he dishes out some amazing food and makes entertaining appearances and events, he should be alright. He’s Taako! From TV!

He takes up his whistling again and barely cares when he accidentally cuts himself while chopping some onions. Sazed always wears bandages on his fingers anyway. No one will suspect a thing.

 

***

 

It has been five months since the wedding night when Kravitz is enveloped by his human form and notices a series of strange bruising. With a frown, he summons a full-length mirror, and privately assesses his back as well as his front. The bruises are only present on Kravitz’ arms. They’re strangely oblong and so faint that the pressure cannot have been more than exactly too hard. It looks as though a strange creature has had its grip on Kravitz’ match, and for a moment Kravitz is indignant. Who dares lay a finger on his match?

His scythe is summoned before he has a chance to think further, and then he is forced to confront the fact that he has no business being upset. While fate, or whatever other power has willed the bond into existence, might believe that they are destined for one another, they do not know each other. Kravitz should have no opinion.

It doesn’t make him any less nauseous whenever he spots the bruises, and he is grateful for his long sleeves.

They have completely disappeared only two days later. No other bruising follows. Kravitz convinces himself that it must have been a one-off. Perhaps a mugging, or just a passionate moment taken a little too far before boundaries were reasserted. Either way, while he was never _meant_ to worry, there is now no _need_ for his worry at all. The fact grants him a restless sort of ease.

A few times, he considers abandoning his human form altogether. Perhaps it’s possible for him to conduct his work without it. It would certainly make him more focused on his missions. But no matter how many times he considers it, he always dismisses the idea. It might be sentimental, but he does prefer knowing that his match is well and alive. A sort of security system is the only thing he can give his match. Should his match be in mortal peril, he will know, and he might be able to help as a stranger passing in the night. It would be his way of repaying for any worries his match might have for him. Although, he would not be insulted if his match spared him no thought.

 

***

(tw: domestic abuse)

 

“Let me go! I’m serious, you dick, let go!”

Sazed’s hands are wrapped tightly around Taako’s forearms. The latter tries to rip himself away, but Sazed is stronger than he looks. His pleading eyes bore into Taako’s and make Taako feel like a jerk for being so rough. He’s not the one holding his husband down against his will, though, so _fuck_ that, Taako’s allowed to be a jerk if he wants to.

“You promised!” His pleading is downright laughable. He sounds like a five-year-old who’s been promised an ice cream or something, not an adult man who has been given a hesitant ‘ehh’ on changing the name of a restaurant, which has been built on someone else’s image anyway.

Never one to hide his scorn, Taako does laugh straight in Sazed’s face, and forces himself to continue when he sees Sazed’s eyes darken with anger. “My dude, the whole brand is Taako – it’d confuse the customers, and I never promised a fucking thing. We both know I don’t _do_ promises, that’s just not Taako’s style, ‘kay? Great. So, be a _fucking dear_ and let me go, or I swear to Istus I’ll blast your ass across the room.”

Hours later, when Sazed is snoring in their bed, Taako locks himself in the bathroom. Under the harsh white light, which he summons, he inspects the growing bruises. He is clad in only a satin robe and is curled up in the bathtub. Finger slowly trailing the yellows and greens, he wonders if someone else is staring at their arm right now, speculating on the origin of the marks. Are they worried? Are they scared? Do they feel their eyes well with water despite themselves and watch as a few, pathetic drops land on their discolored skin? Taako for _sure_ fucking doesn’t. He sniffles. The sound is too loud.

The silk of his robe absorbs the tears that have escaped, and the rest are blinked away. His feet are cold against the ceramic of the tub. For another few moments, he stares into the air in front of him.

The walls need a scrub. So does the toilet.

Slowly, he climbs out of the tub. His feet are unsure, but they nonetheless trace the steps back to the bed. He sinks into the mattress and pulls the covers over his shoulders. Without looking at his husband, he closes his eyes and lets the luxury of sleep overwhelm him.

The bruises are gone after two days, but Sazed keeps nagging. Taako makes a habit of flashing his wand whenever he can to remind Sazed that while he may have the upper hand in terms of physical strength, he is no match against magic. It keeps him docile.

No direct threats are exchanged but Taako stops sleeping.

Staying with Sazed, though, is as natural as breathing. Leaving him wouldn’t be right. They haven’t promised each other love; they haven’t even promised to _like_ each other. They’re both here for the physical and the fun – and they like turning heads when they walk down the street with each other, both dazzlingly attractive in each their ways. A split wouldn’t look good in the press, and though Taako is weary of his husband, he’s also the only one who’s ever made his body sing like this and not pushed for the kind of love Taako doesn’t think himself capable of giving anyone.

It’s a rough patch. Sazed just needs to figure out where the boundaries are, and then they’ll go right back to the carefree fun.

 

(end tw)

***

 

The small cuts, blisters and scorch marks continue to appear whenever Kravitz dons his human form. Some are fresh, most are always a day or more old, and they’re never something to worry over. Though he begins to wear gloves – black, sleek leather that he can excuse as being a part of his Grim Reaper aesthetic – he often runs his fingertips over the marks on the opposite hand, taking comfort in this strange closeness he shares with someone many planes away.

When work brings him to the material plane, he sometimes looks for them. It isn’t a conscious effort, and whenever he catches himself doing it, he purposefully sheds his human skin in favor of his skeletal appearance (if he doesn’t need the human appearance for his work’s sake, of course), but he _does_ look. He scans the souls around him, subconsciously looking for one that shines like the magic simmering under the cuts and blisters. Nothing ever sticks out to him. It’s for the better, but he keeps looking. Why does he keep looking? 

One day, the Raven Queen calls upon him, but rather than having a bounty at the ready, she’s holding a cup of tea. Her vaguely threatening, otherworldly energy seems to upset the tea, which stirs in the cup. Kravitz, too, is uneasy. The two may have a good work relationship, but this is different. It feels _personal_.

Apprehensive but not disrespectful enough to turn down the offer, Kravitz approaches slowly and accepts the cup. The Raven Queen promptly summons a chair for him, and he sits down carefully. “My queen,” he begins, holding the cup as though it’s a pile of cursed gold.

The goddess interrupts him before he can say anything else, “Have tea with me, Kravitz,” she simply says. There is a smile in her voice. Whether there is one on her face or not is guesswork: she wears an elaborate mask of feathers and lace, much like a mourning veil that is prevalent in some material plane cultures.

The mask falls around the back of her head, too, and though Kravitz knows her hair is long and black, it is currently out of sight. It must be pinned up. Her fingers are long and sharp, like claws, and her nails extend much further than Kravitz has ever seen any mortal keep theirs. The fingers are wrapped in black jewelry which glitters whenever her fingers move. The rest of her body is covered in a dress as dramatic as the mask, this one also black and covered in feathers. He has never seen her feet, and she makes no sound when she walks. It’s unknown to him when her body stops or becomes a cloud of smoke, or if she is simply that graceful. Overall, she makes an imposing picture. It took Kravitz decades of service until he could breathe in her presence.

And now they’re having tea, apparently. Another cup, hers, is perched on a small table next to her, though he’s not sure how she plans on drinking it.

Kravitz blows nervously on his hot beverage and watches her through the corner of his eye. “Is- is something wrong, my queen?” he tries and stumbles pathetically over his words.

She laughs gently and stirs her cup with a nail. “Not at all, dear. I simply wish to speak with you, that is all.”

That still sounds like something is wrong. Swallowing his nerves, Kravitz shuffles in his seat and clutches the cup. Although the temperature seems to be appropriate, he can’t get himself to drink. If he had a beating heart, it would be thumping erratically. “I see,” he mutters dumbly and looks for something to focus is eyes on – but the room around them is fluid, like the rest of the ethereal plane, kept in shape only when a god wills it to, and the Raven Queen doesn’t seem preoccupied with that. Eventually he settles on watching her jewelry sparkle as her hand moves in circles above the tea.

“Let me see your hands.”

Kravitz freezes, but he has no choice. If she asks for something, he must deliver. Swallowing, he sits the cup on the table, removes his gloves, and stretches out his hands for the goddess to inspect. She firmly grabs his hands and moves closer. Her touch makes the hairs on his arms stand on end. Though he cannot see it, he imagines that she frowns and squints as she twists and turns his hands. Eventually, she lets go and sits back.

He is ready to be reprimanded or simply reminded that though the bond may be present, it is not something that he must ever pursue. In fact, he wants her to say so. It would make it easier to let go. Head bent to the nonexistent floor, he waits.

“Thank you,” is her simple conclusion, another smile present in her voice. “Istus will join us shortly. Do you need any sugar?”

“I,” he begins, eyes shooting up to search her mask for any sign of emotion other than … curiosity? As he cannot see through the material (is there even anything to see behind it?), his search is fruitless. “No… thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” she says with such _humor_ that Kravitz temporarily feels as though this whole conversation is a figment of his imagination. Goddesses do not joke. They do not take tea with their emissaries. And they do not express almost motherly tendencies. Has he somehow consumed a type of hallucinogen on his latest mission? It would make more sense than this.

The next hour is strange not because it is eccentric but because it is _domestic_. Istus joins them not two minutes later, her brightly-shining form followed by a train of knitted yarn so long it extends into infinity. She takes a seat next to the Raven Queen, and it briefly looks as though the two are interviewing Kravitz for a job. However, Istus’ knitwear soon curls around Kravitz’ legs, and the atmosphere becomes infinitely stranger – more domestic. Istus asks for a cup of lemon tea, and only stops her work to sip appreciatively. There is not a lot of talk, but the simple, calm atmosphere is enough to keep Kravitz’ mind occupied.

Every five minutes, one of the goddesses asks the other about something that is _just_ outside of Kravitz’ reach of understanding. It is as though they are speaking another language that he stopped speaking years ago. He tries to discern the words, but they make less sense as he does. Taking pity on him, no doubt, Istus makes pleasant conversation with him. She expresses interest in his work, which feels strange given that she is, in mortal terms, the wife of his employer. Kravitz answers her questions, though, and finds a peculiar pleasure in being listened to with interest. It is not as though he is ignored, but he rarely gets the opportunity to speak openly about his work.

When the Raven Queen finally dismisses him, she momentarily cradles his face in her sharp hands. Then she steps back, and he bows deeply to both goddesses. They nod back, Istus with a kind smile on her face and knitted yarn slung across her shoulders. The world transforms around him as he returns to his quarters in the astral plane.

Too late, he realizes he has forgotten his leather gloves.

 

***

 

An unseen power slashes Taako across his chest, leaving behind a large gash stretching from his left shoulder down to his right hip. Screaming in pain he doesn’t feel, he leaps across the slippery tiles of the shower and grabs the wand sat in the shampoo holder. He immediately casts Detect Magic and pulls the shower curtain aside to spot any villains hiding behind it. Heart thumping hard and skipping lightly in his chest, he half-expects another blow. The spell reveals that everything is as ordinary or as magical as it usually is. There is no trace of any traps, other presences or antagonistic magic. Taako can’t take a chance: he still holds the wand tightly as he steps out of the shower and snaps his fingers to dry off his body.

Belatedly, he realizes how fucking weird it is that he can’t feel the wound.

He breathes heavily as he looks down at his chest. The slash is incredibly severe, beating the already scary-looking vertical scars by miles. Carefully, he traces his fingertips on the sides of the cut, not stupid enough to jam his fingers right in there, but foolhardy enough to test the weird sensation. All he feels is that near-tickle of running his fingertips gently across his skin. Even as he prods, there is no pain. No blood gushes out, even though he can see straight into the pink flesh.

This is so fucking weird, what the _shit_?

He’s about to call on Sazed, who’s probably still sprawled out in bed with his computer balancing on his chest, when the wound heals within a split second. Blinking, Taako prods his skin again, this time right where the slash is supposed to be. There is still no pain, and now there is no sign the wound was ever there at all. What the fuck??

It takes him a few moments, staring square at his own chest (both directly and through a mirror) before he rediscovers the three scars and has an idea. Maybe… maybe his match isn’t dead. Why they would’ve gotten scars from whatever it was and not this nasty wound, Taako can’t say, but… maybe _his_ skin was never cut at all: it was all his match. Well, fuck that dude, whoever they are, for giving him such a fucking fight. At least it seems like they have a competent cleric with them.

He’s not sure how to react to this, honestly. Finding his match is something he’s given up on. He’s not sure he even ever wanted to. Love and all that… that isn’t his scene. It might suit lots of folks – like Lup and Barry, the fucking lovebirds – but it just doesn’t work out for old Taako. The reemergence of his match, twenty fucking _years_ after Taako was gifted those scars, doesn’t change anything. It’s still a call for love Taako can’t physically answer. It’s too much.

Still… they’re bound together. They… they share something. And for all that Taako pretends that he doesn’t give a _shit_ about anything or anyone, he can’t shake the feeling that he should reach out. Just because he can’t give his heart out like that, it doesn’t mean that he has to _ignore_ a dude in peril, especially if there’s a chance that someone might actually care for–

Banishing the ending of that thought, Taako rummages through the cupboards to find a pen. Some people’s bonds are strong enough for superficial ink to carry over, though science suggests that it also depends very much on genes and chance. Taako hasn’t exactly studied it, but he knows enough from Magnus’ endless cooing over the fact that he and Julia can send each other secret messages throughout the day without even using a phone.

There is no pen. Hm. A simple solution presents itself to him, and he has to grin. A moment later, he is holding his liquid eyeliner and applying it to his chest, on skin that was previously all chopped up, in the shape of three letters.


	2. we had crossed each other's way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be self-indulgent and at a maximum of 4k words. Instead it turned out massive but still self-indulgent, which means that while I have really enjoyed writing it and still think it's a fun, little piece to read, it's intended as nothing more. If you want to read good plots with incredible writing and so on, then read fics like "Luster" or "Formaldehyde and Seek". I don't aspire to write something incredible here, but I still wanted to share it with you all because of how much time I did put into writing it, and because I thought you might appreciate the light read. It has been separated into parts simply for readability.
> 
> The title of the whole work, as well as the title of each part, has been taken from Oscar Wilde's "The Ballad of Reading Gaol", my favorite poem.

Kravitz wakes up for the first time in years. He doesn’t make a habit out of sleeping, but after his latest mission he needed to check out of the world for a little bit. His mouth is dry when he awakens, and for a moment he is worried the Stockade has somehow crumbled while he’s been unconscious. However, a quick magical sweep through his surroundings tells him that everything is in order.

He pushes himself up in a sitting position and opens his eyes, thankful that this plane is generally much darker than the material plane. Darkness soothes the souls. It takes him a second to get used to the fact that he immediately inhabits his human body, the flesh having persisted overnight (overday? He’s not sure of the time, but time is barely present in the astral plane anyway).

It is while inspecting his body that he notices three words scrawled upside-down on the left side of his chest, right above heart.

 _u ok?_  

The words are black but a little smudged and faded, as though they have been written there hours ago and lived in since. Though he has a good idea of their origin, he lifts a shaking hand to his lips, wets a fingertip, and then drags it across the words. They stick.

Fuck.

It’s his match, reaching out. He’s heard stories of superficial marks transferring, like color and ink, but it still feels unreal, staring at this message his match has left him. And out of all the messages they could’ve sent. _Are you okay?_ Why would they wonder that? It’s not like _exhaustion_ is transferrable. Kravitz licks his lips, and snaps his clothes on.

He manages to inspect the entire Stockade before he realizes the context of the message, and he immediately wants to hit himself for being so stupid. His latest job included some necromancers and their nasty creations, which nearly tore Kravitz to shreds. For the most part, he managed to heal the cuts within the second, if not even _as_ they were applied. However, one particularly rough wound, which nearly cleft his chest in twain and would have killed anybody not already dead, took him a little longer to repair. It must have given his match time to spot the wound, and evidently enough time to worry.

Worry. Oh, that’s not good.

Kravitz swallows and wishes he could wash the words away immediately. There’s a _reason_ he’s kept his distance. It’s better this way. Plus, his match is married – happily, it would seem, if the constant indent in Kravitz’ left ring finger is any indication. He needs to do better next time. There will be no more slipups.

There is no time to think about it further. He is soon hurled into work as the Raven Queen informs him that the latest necromancers he took down owned the same book as the last five marks: _Elevating Necromancy_ by Sildar Hallwinter. It is time to take a look at this elusive author, who, in spite of their work within necromancy, has never popped up on Kravitz’ radar. And it will be hard, because they have already established that the name must be a pseudonym: no one by the name of Sildar Hallwinter resides in the material plane, or, in fact, any other plane. Kravitz needs to put on his best workface and ignore any personal agendas to get a hold of this necromancer, whose work has caused so much peril.

He starts by eliminating all Hallwinters from the pool of suspects. It takes him a week to visit them all, as the family name encompasses hundreds of individuals spread throughout the material plane. Kravitz works nonstop and adopts dozens of personas to get enough information about the Hallwinter family members to cross them off his list. He’s fairly certain that the last name is unrelated, but he needs to be absolutely sure, since he represents the highest order there is: the Raven Queen’s will.

Additionally, Kravitz puts out magical feelers that will alert him if the name is written down somewhere. It is an enormous spell that requires much energy, but with the magical capabilities he has been granted by the Raven Queen, which extend well beyond what he was capable while he was alive, he is able to carry it through. Eventually, it pays off. He registers the name being written down, and interrupts his beeline to the nearest tavern to rip open the fabric of reality and immediately appear inches from where the name has been applied. To avoid suspicion, he vacates his human form and floats as smoke.

The rift leads him to a restaurant. To be more specific, it leads him to a restaurant’s book on reservations. Sildar Hallwinter has just made a reservation for three at _Taako’s Fine Dining_ in Goldcliff for that same evening – presumably through the stone of far-speech, which the man, who’d written the name down, has swinging from his neck.

Still in his smoke form, Kravitz slips out of the establishment and travels for a few streets before he finds an appropriate alley. Here, he recovers his human body. Though he rarely uses it, he does possess a stone of far-speech. It is more convenient than a phone sometimes, as one only has to think of the place or person one wishes to reach – no messy numbers involved. He pulls it out of his pocket, thinks of the restaurant, and watches as the stone blinks red.

It turns blue when someone on the other end says: “You’ve called _Taako’s Fine Dining_ , this is Sazed speaking.”

“Good evening,” Kravitz begins, comfortably slipping into his polite demeanor. It is a lot easier to speak to mortals than gods, and though Kravitz has spent a full week in the company of mortals, it is still refreshing to not worry about tripping over himself every other second. “I wish to reserve a table for one this evening, say around six?” He mentally pulls out one of the pseudonyms he has used this week. “My name is Axel Silverlake.”

“Certainly, Mr. Silverlake,” Sazed responds, and Kravitz hears him note down the name. “You have been noted for a one-person reservation at six. Anything else I can help you with?”

A description of Sildar Hallwinter would be great. “No, thank you, Sazed, that will be all.”

“You’re very welcome, sir, have a nice evening.”

The light within the stone dims, and Kravitz slips it back into his pocket. Alright. He has two hours until the clock strikes six. Though he doesn’t expect this evening to turn into a confrontation – he has prepared himself for reconnaissance – his veins are already humming with the excitement. Finally, a lead on the necromancer, who has written the (un)holiest of books on necromancy.

Kravitz whistles as he walks the streets, enjoying how the sun feels on his skin and even pulling off his gloves to run them through his hair. It may be a hard assignment, but it seems that everything is looking up! He can even drop the spell that’s been draining him, and the three letters on his chest are there no longer. Perhaps there is hope that his mind might find some peace.

His step is uncharacteristically light as he wanders Goldcliff. In the end, he decides to show up at the restaurant fifteen minutes to six. It will give him some time to get to know the surroundings, and he should be able to observe Sildar Hallwinter arrive.

The restaurant is charming. Its outside is modern and humble. Fairy lights are suspended in trees surrounding it and from the windows. The walls are painted a soft cream, and the name of the place is written in swooping letters. Kravitz was too busy earlier to appreciate the welcoming atmosphere. Now, dressed in a sharp suit with his dreadlocks tied on the back of his head, he enters the establishment with an easy smile on his face. Eating is not a necessity for him anymore, but it is an indulgence he can’t let go – much like sleeping.

A man with a familiar stone of far-speech around his neck greets him by the front desk, handsome and put-together (though with a strange air of playing pretend), and asks Kravitz for his name. Kravitz offers his pseudonym and the man, Sazed, welcomes him with a smile that’s a little too desperate and shows him to his table. It is in the eastern-most side of the restaurant, against the wall, but it is not in a corner: it could be worse in terms of outlook posts. Kravitz thanks him and accepts the menu.

Not even a minute later, a short but energetic young woman greets him and introduces herself as his server for the night, Ren. Automatically, Kravitz inspects her soul’s energy, nearly melancholic when he sees it burning brightly. He orders a shrimp salad as a starter, a duck for his main course, and a red wine. Ren notes it all down quickly and makes a little pun about ‘getting quacking’ with such an innocent intent that Kravitz laughs at the joke and is happy to see her brighten even further. He makes a note of tipping her well: she deserves it, and as a goddess’ emissary, he will never be in money trouble.

Ren takes his menu and reappears with a glass and a bottle of wine impressively fast. She pours him a glass, and swoops away with the bottle, presumably intending on checking on him regularly to refresh his glass. He manages to thank her before she’s gone, and then he’s left alone.

Completely alone, he is not. The restaurant is far from empty. Half of it is occupied already, which is impressive for a time this early. Worried that Sildar Hallwinter has already arrived, Kravitz scans the place for companies of three, but he sees only twos and fours and above. He keeps an eye on the twos, but mostly because he has nothing else to do, and is glad that his skill of reading lips has been maintained over the years.

The shrimp salad is _amazing_. Kravitz takes his first bite while surveying the room, his focus having centered on two older women, who have been discussing magical theory for the past five minutes. Sildar Hallwinter is not an identity limited to one gender, and the women certainly seem to be well-read, as they kept bringing up terms and people Kravitz can’t discern. Lip-reading is fine and well when you know the topic, and even then it can lead you astray, but throw in something you aren’t particularly well-read in and it feels like afternoon tea with the Raven Queen and Istus.

Because he is so occupied with watching the two, the taste of the salad takes him by surprise. While salad is still salad, the chef in charge has certainly wrung out every ounce of life he could from every ingredient – particularly the shrimp and the components of the light sauce. It’s a pleasant surprise that the food matches the welcoming aesthetic, and Kravitz eats slowly to appreciate it. When Ren stops by to inquire about his satisfaction, all he can manage is: “It’s _amazing_.”

She grins in understanding. “Y’don’t expect a whole production in a salad, but here it is,” she agrees, and although Kravitz doesn’t fully understand what she means, he nods emphatically.

When the clock strikes six, three finely dressed gentlemen walk in. Kravitz perks up and watches them be seated on the opposite end of the restaurant. Damn. From this distance, he can barely see them through the forest of other faces, and they all sit at an angle to him. Even if he manages to read their lips, he doubts he will gather any accurate information. With a disappointed sigh, he reaches for the wine and sips thoughtfully. He tries to uplift his own spirits by reminding himself that he has at least seen Hallwinter’s face. Which one of the three he is, is not certain yet, but as long as Kravitz memorizes them all, he should have enough to go by. Additionally, he takes notice of their soul energies and tries to remember how exactly they pulsate and what their hues are. It might help him look up the true name of Hallwinter.

While Kravitz tries to watch the table without being caught, Ren reemerges once more to take the dirty plate and top up his wine. He exchanges another string of polite words with her and she makes him laugh with another silly pun of hers. It’s nice interacting with someone without secretly plotting their capture or being in eternal service to them.

The gentlemen have said nothing of consequence – as far as Kravitz can discern – when ten past six rolls around. They talk a lot about cars and racing and betting, the latter of which is certainly illegal in the material plane but does not go against the Raven Queen’s orders. Kravitz has already memorized their faces and energies, and so he finds his attention drifting. His main course has not arrived yet, but Ren has – unprompted – promised him that it is on its way. When a family of three stumbles through the door, Kravitz is happy to observe the new distraction.

The family consists of a man, a woman, and a toddler. The man is human. Glasses are perched on his nose, the toddler cradled in his arms, and he’s wearing jeans to a fine dining establishment. He doesn’t look comfortable with the surroundings. His wife, though, elven and beautifully dressed, looks as though she has grown up amongst glitz and glamor. Her makeup is extravagant while her clothes are elegant but simple – no doubt to look beautiful but without drifting too far from her husband’s aesthetic. The toddler has pretty, dark curls on their head, and they look around the restaurant with large eyes.

Sazed seats the family at the table in front of Kravitz’. The wife sits with her back to Kravitz, the husband on the other side, and the toddler is put in a highchair at the table end between them. Kravitz is about to look back at the three suited gentlemen when he overhears Sazed saying: “I’m not sure why you thought it was necessary to use your Hallwinter pseudonym to reserve a table, Barry; you would’ve probably had a higher chance of securing a table if you’d used your own.”

Immediately, Kravitz snaps up his head to stare straight at the family. “Hallwinter” and “pseudonym” used in the same sentence – what are the odds? The idea sounds ridiculous, but it would seem that he has found Sildar Hallwinter, whose real name is Barry, along with his wife and child. Quickly looking back down, Kravitz thanks the Raven Queen for his enhanced senses as he is able to overhear the conversation at the table as though he is a part of it.

Barry sounds embarrassed when he answers: “I panicked! I couldn’t tell it was you on the stone, and I wanted to make sure we got a table.”

Someone laughs. Kravitz guesses it is Sazed, but he keeps his eyes carefully trained on the phone he pulls out of his pocket. It has nothing on it, not even old photos, so if anyone were to look close, they’d easily spot his deception. “Even so, using Lup’s name would’ve gotten you a seat no matter who’d picked up.”

“See, babe, I’ve told you: just use my name. What’s marriage for anyway?”

“Sharing your life with someone you love,” Barry counters with just enough bite to counteract the nauseating sweetness, before chuckling. “But yeah, you’re both right. I don’t know why that was my gut reaction. Maybe you should call next time, honey.”

“Oh, no fuckin’ way, I like you surprising me like this too much.”

Kravitz runs through the names in his head: Lup, Barry, Sazed. Clearly, the three know each other. He would even go as far as to say that they are familiar with one another. Lup has a higher status here, for whatever reason. That is a mystery to be unfolded.

He doesn’t want to judge anyone, but he did not expect a mastermind necromancer to wear jeans to a fancy restaurant, nor did he expect them to be married with a kid – or look like they would be awkward in most social gatherings. The latter part makes sense, at least: social isolation could lead to strange past times. But Barry doesn’t seem unbalanced or isolated. He just sounds like a guy trying his best. 

There’s a chance Kravitz is wrong here, but the chance is not big enough for Kravitz to give up on his reconnaissance. Either way, he has found someone using the Sildar Hallwinter pseudonym and it’s his only lead. Kravitz will stay and observe. Worst come to worst, he’ll have spent an evening eating the best food of his life but be back at square one regarding Sildar Hallwinter – who still has not put any of his theories into practice himself. Should he be punished for others doing something inspired by his work? Kravitz shakes off that line of thought. It isn’t for him to decide, it’s the Raven Queen, and while she hasn’t told him to reap his soul, she is certainly against his work.

Ren appears, then, with his duck, and he accepts it with a smile. She does a general checkup on his status and he tells her to send his compliments to the chef. That, for some reason, makes her giggle and make a comment about ‘not inflatin’ anyone’s egos’. Strange. Kravitz chuckles along.

The duck is _incredible_. It’s tender, the spices are just right, and every bite tastes of _more_. It is possibly the closest Kravitz has gotten to feeling hungry since his death, and he is nearly distracted from his mission. Three bites into the dish, he remembers to tune back into what the other table is discussing. Sazed is still hovering there, although – from a few glances – Kravitz can tell that he’s anxious to get back to the rest of the guests. Eventually, he excuses himself and says: “I’ll let Taako know you’re here.”

This inspires the toddler to cry out: “Uncwe Taako!” Lup and Barry laugh: Lup very loudly, unrestrained in her glee, and Barry fond but awkward.

“That’s right, Ango,” Lup agrees and tousles the soft head of the child (Ango?), who makes happy gurgling noises in response, not quite words but also not quite nonsensical either. “Uncle Taako’s gonna cook us some nice dinner. If you’re a lucky, little rascal, he’ll maybe let you get a shrimp.”

That seems to please Ango, who immediately erupts into a cry of: “Shrimp! Heaven! Now!” This is strange enough for Kravitz to look up and openly look to the table.

Lup throws back her head and laughs even louder than before, while Barry lets his head fall into his hands, ears reddening with embarrassment. “Please, Angus, we can’t keep doing this,” he mumbles so softly Kravitz barely hears it. When he does, however, Kravitz must battle with a laugh of his own.

Angus (‘Ango’ must be a nickname, and Kravitz feels weird referring to a kid by their nickname without knowing said kid) looks very pleased with having made his mother laugh, and he reaches out to her with one hand. Lup meets him in the middle and carefully bounces his hand up and down, which makes Angus giggle.

“C’mon, babe, we gotta let him know we appreciate how quickly he’s gotten around to eating solids, that’s a huge deal,” Lup argues, voice still filled to the brim with laughter. 

When Barry looks up from his hands, face still red, it’s Kravitz’ cue to look back down at his own food. He realizes he’s forgotten all about the duck and immediately digs back in. Istus, it’s fucking incredible. Whoever Taako (presumably the head chef, given the name of the restaurant) is, he knows his stuff.

‘Uncle Taako’ – that’s another piece of the puzzle. The head chef is either related to Barry or Lup, and given the earlier statement about Lup’s name carrying more value here than Barry’s, Kravitz would guess that she’s the sibling. It makes sense for Sazed to know them now. As an employee at the establishment, he’s probably seen the family many times before.

Kravitz bites into his duck, lost in thought, and listens absentmindedly as Lup and Barry order from Ren. They order one shrimp and a ‘usual’ for Angus, a vegetarian option for Lup, and a steak for Barry. The chit-chat then turns into references to friends and plans and events that Kravitz knows nothing about – and they don’t talk about work. Kravitz wouldn’t expect any necromancer to discuss their work in front of their child, but it still means that he can gain very little intel on Barry.

About ten minutes later, the door to the kitchen opens (not unusual), and out walks an elf dressed in an apron and a chef’s hat (unusual). Kravitz sits a little straighter. The man is plainly clothed, but the of makeup on his face – an apple-red lipstick and golden eyeshadow – which must break the health code, speaks to a more extravagant aesthetic unable to be pursued in a work environment. His eyes, green and slanted, shine with enthusiasm. A few locks of hair fall across his forehead from the chef’s hat, under which the rest of his hair must be pinned. It reminds Kravitz of the Raven Queen and her mask. When the elf smiles, he shows off a charming gap between his front teeth. Overall, he’s the kind of attractive that makes you very self-aware. Kravitz slumps in his chair to not draw attention to himself. This way he can continue watching.

“Ango!” the chef exclaims, completely ignoring the adults at the table, and spreads out his arms in a hilariously dramatic fashion. “My best nephew, what’re you doin’ here?” Angus immediately starts giggling, and reaches for the man, who no doubt is Taako. Taako doesn’t waste time but easily plucks up Angus, and shifts him so that Angus is sitting against Taako’s right arm. An elven finger pokes Angus square on the nose, which only makes him giggle louder. “Cat got ya tongue, huh?”

Angus reaches for the finger. “Kitty-cat,” he agrees as Taako moves his fingers in a playful manner, as though he is, in fact, playing with a cat. Those fingers are long and dexterous, washed clean of any foods from the kitchen. Kravitz gets the impression that this chef would absolutely love the Raven Queen’s choice of decoration on her hands. With his heightened senses, Kravitz can even see the pores of his skin. A bump on the outside of his pinky, probably a blister. A small cut less than an inch above the nail on his forefinger.

Kravitz’ blood runs cold.

Disbelieving, he looks down at his own hands, naked and exposed ever since he took off his gloves to appreciate the freedom of Goldcliff. On his left hand: a blister on his left pinky, a cut above the nail on his forefinger.

All he can think is: he was right, his match is a chef.

No. No, he can’t be sure about this. It must be a coincidence. There’s no way, there’s no _fucking_ way he’s running into his match like this. It’s impossible. What are the damn chances? Very slim to completely nonexistent.

He chugs the rest of the wine in his glass. This is… this is too much, on top of everything. He must figure out a way to rule out the possibility that Taako, brother-in-law of the dangerous necromancer Kravitz has spent a week trying to track down, is Kravitz’ match.

A minute later, as Taako is chatting away with Lup and Barry, Angus still on his arm, Kravitz has an idea. It’s not the best idea he’s ever had, but it’s an idea, and at this point that’s more than enough.

With his right hand, he clutches the fork. After a quick intake of air through his nose, he places his left hand flat on the table, as close to the plate as he can get it, and impales his hand with the fork with all the strength he can muster. It hurts. A lot. Blood starts trickling, but before it can spread, he whispers some words of magic, which stops the bleeding but does not heal the wound. Carefully, he retracts the fork. Four deep but even and small wounds stretch across the back of his hand. He feels nauseous, seeing it, but it will do the trick.

Expectantly, he looks up, but Taako has set Angus down while Kravitz was occupied, and now has his hands against his hips. The angle makes it impossible for Kravitz to see, and while he could wait until Taako does a hand movement, both his body language and his words express that he’ll be leaving the table soon – which can’t happen before Kravitz has looked at his hand, because Kravitz needs to heal the wound before Taako, or whoever his match is, gets a chance to see it.

Panicked, Kravitz gets out of his chair without having a battle plan ready, quickly slipping on his gloves. Taako is already turning away from the table, cruel fate making him move his hands _just so_ that Kravitz cannot see. Istus damn it! Although he has no plan, Kravitz moves with confidence in Taako’s direction. Taako seems to not have noticed the stranger following him, and at the very last moment, Kravitz does a little turn so that his shoulder barrels directly into Taako’s.

The brief moment of touching is strange. It feels like the collision of two worlds.

Taako stumbles into another table, only avoiding knocking over the glasses at the last moment.

“Oh my –, I’m _so_ sorry,” Kravitz immediately splutters, and pours all his nerves into his voice. Gone is his persona of calm and coolness; it is time to play the bumbling fool. It feels less like playing pretend than the former. “ _So_ so sorry about that, I can’t believe I did that, are you alright?" 

As Taako swerves to face him, annoyance written in every beautiful feature. Kravitz tries not to let it knock him back, because he has a hand to inspect. However, when Taako holds out his hands, his palms are facing Kravitz. The elf looks struck, first by Kravitz himself (though Kravitz isn’t entirely sure why that might be), and then he looks at his hands.

He looks at his hands.

Kravitz can’t feel the tips of his fingers. Words clearly die on Taako’s lips as he takes in the sight of his left hand. Stranger forgotten, rude as Kravitz might have been, Taako lets his right hand fall away and stares. There is no telling what kind of emotions run across his face, aside from pure and unadulterated shock.

While Kravitz would love to ignore what Taako must has seen, he has a duty as his role of confused fool. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” The questions feel entirely too heavy, too meaningful.

It takes Taako another beat to gather his bearings, though he still doesn’t drop his left hand. He blinks up at Kravitz. The green of his eyes reminds Kravitz of soft forest moss. “Fine… yeah, I’m fine, my man, it’s nothing, it’s all good,” he says with fake optimism and finally flexes his hand before letting it fall to his side. “All’s forgotten – you lookin’ for the bathroom? It’s just down there, to the left. I gotta go back to the kitchen, but maybe take a look around next time, before you oaf directly into a pretty chef, huh?”

“Yes, thanks – again: I’m so sorry,” Kravitz rushes to say, and immediately takes off to the bathroom.

 

***

 

Whatever his match is up to now, it’s weird as _fuck_. The kitchen is busy, but they can all fucking wait while Taako here has a godsdamned nervous breakdown. How does he go from hearing nothing for twenty years, and then getting a massive wound down his chest and _this_ weird combination of stab wounds in his hand within the same couple of weeks? Is his match, fuckin’, good? Not that Taako cares because obviously, his match doesn’t care about him if there’s been no effort to find him, but shit… this is _weird_.

He bites the nail of his right thumb while he paces in the staff bathroom. The left hand he keeps stretched out in front of him. Those stab wounds, they’re a little fucked up. They look neat. They’re in a perfect line of four. It looks… it kinda looks like homeboy has gotten stabbed with a damn fork. Although, what kind of sadistic shit uses a fork as his weapon of choice? It’s probably something else. But Taako can’t shake the image of a fork boring itself into his hand, impaling it. It makes him shudder.

For a moment, he considers leaving another message. A second ‘u ok?’ but bass fucking boosted because homeboy must not be alright, what with these mystery-but-wild-as-fuck injuries he’s got going. But his first message wasn’t answered, so why would this one? Maybe someone’s playing god with his match’s corpse, or maybe his match is just not interested in a clingy bond-mate. Either way there’s no reason to get hung up on it. 

Back to work. That’s what he’s gotta do. Just get back to work.

 

***

 

Kravitz breathes shallowly. The wounds still hurt under his glove, but he’s apprehensive to close them up now that Taako has seen them. Should he just keep them and cowardly take off his gloves and let the elf figure it out himself if he wants to? Should he heal them and try to ignore this discovery for the rest of his existence, or indeed the rest of Taako’s life, whichever might come first? Or is there… is there a third option? Somewhere in-between?

Something like: Kravitz heals the wounds but confronts Taako?

It’s a scary thought. No, actually, it’s terrifying, because he doubts either of them have expected ever seeing each other, and he could easily walk away from all of this. He could let Taako live in oblivion and do his damnedest to never encounter him again. But it wouldn’t be fair. This is something they share. It would be cruel of Kravitz to make a decision that the two of them should be making together.

Kravitz sucks in a breath, and exits the bathroom. On the way back to his table, he’s eyed by Lup, who doesn’t seem upset that he nearly hurt her brother, just curious. Lup and Taako look so much alike that they must be twins. The same freckles are scattered across her nose, a nose which swoops upwards and has a sharp end. He looks away from her, and sits back down at his table as though his entire world hasn’t just shifted.

The remaining duck is cold. He eats it, using his fork. It tastes of blood.

 

***

 

While preparing Lup’s dessert, Taako notices that the wounds are gone. It’s just as well. He has to stop thinking about the chucklefuck on the other end of this bond. Taako has a whole existence here, and he doesn’t want anyone to saunter into his life and think they can split that all apart. Hell no. He’s worked for this. Nobody, no matter their magical connection to him, will swoop in and take it away from him.

Lup, Barry, and Ango leave relatively early. The little buddy gets cranky if the hour gets too late, even though he’s a night owl for his age. Taako ruffles his hair gently, kisses Lup on her cheek, and fist-bumps Barry on their way out. Then it’s back to the kitchen.

It’s around one in the morning when the restaurant is closed for the night. Taako runs late nights. He prefers it to early noons. It does mean that he’s exhausted when he stumbles out of the backdoor, and nearly jumps five fucking feet at the sight of a tall, dark, and handsome man leaned against the alley wall. His heart skips at least three beats, and a scream is ready in the back of his throat.

“What the _shit_ , dude?” he demands to know when he realizes that Tall, Dark, Handsome is the man from the restaurant who nearly murdered him. It’s been hours, what the fuck is he doing here? Even though Taako is worried for his safety, he smooths down his hair, which must look like a mess after all those hours under the chef’s hat, and brushes off a sleeve. “Handsome” _is_ still one of his descriptors. The jawline is to die for, his lips are broad and full, and his eyes are almond-shaped and as dark as the dreadlocks framing his face. Sign Taako the fuck up any other time and place of the day. “Nothing screams ‘creepy fucking killer’ more than whatever you’re up to.”

Handsome ducks his head. Embarrassed? Taako smirks. That’s kinda cute. “Sorry, I… I didn’t really know how to do this.”

“Lemme help you out there, dude: if you wanna go on a date with ole’ Taako, all you gotta do is ask.”

That seems to shock Handsome into looking up. For some reason, Handsome fiddles with his left hand. Oh, Taako’s not the only one with a ring, probably. He can’t tell; Handsome is wearing leather gloves that Lup would kill to own. Hm, that’s a shame. Not that Taako has done the whole cheating thing before, and it _would_ be kinda shitty of him, but he could make an exception here, and he and Sazed have never involved feelings in their marriage anyway. Cheating wouldn’t hurt anyone if no one found out. 

“No, that’s not…” Aw, dang, well, okay. It’s probably for the best. The fewer reasons Sazed has to kill him one of these days, the better. Everything is so damn rocky lately. “That’s not why I’m… Sorry, this isn’t easy for me.”

Taako snorts. “Obviously.” He finally locks the door behind him, and walks closer to Handsome to mirror his relaxed lean against the wall. “What’s your name, thug?”

Handsome looks surprised – again. It’s kinda adorable to see him like this: wide eyes, slightly parted lips. “Kravitz,” Handsome breathes, “and you’re Taako.”

It’s no surprise that Kravitz knows his name. Taako just twirls his hand in the air and nods slowly – like he’s seen cocky royals do it in those historical dramas. “From TV,” he agrees. “You here for an autograph, then? ‘Cause, buddy, I don’t know what they told you, but you need to have a pen on hand for that.”

Kravitz perks up, though Taako isn’t entirely sure why. The autograph comment was meant as a joke. If Kravitz wanted an autograph, he could’ve easily gotten it in the restaurant, not an hour after closing. “Actually, that might help me explain this,” he says, and he sounds almost apologetic, as though he’s ashamed of needing this help. Whatever the fuck kind of help an _autograph_ could be.

Now a little uncomfortable, Taako crosses his arms across his chest. “Y’got a pen or what?” is all he can think to say, malice slipping into his tone. This is just… getting too fucking weird, even for a guy like Taako.

He’s not sure if he’s disappointed when Kravitz produces a pen from the inside of his jacket and hands it over, but he doesn’t have much time to think about that before Kravitz pulls off those leather gloves, and extends his right hand. What the fuck? Taako raises an eyebrow and squints at him, but Kravitz looks determined… and kinda like Taako is about to kill his firstborn or something; his face is just weird.

Ignoring all signs of ‘I’m about to be killed so hard’, Taako grabs Kravitz’ hand with his own. “Hoo boy, that’s a clammy one!” he exclaims, too shocked by the temperature difference to hold back the exclamation. It makes Kravitz visibly squirm, and Taako realizes that it’s probably not best to start antagonizing the man who’s got several inches and lots of muscle on him and has him cornered in an alleyway. “But that’s _fine_ ,” he continues, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Taako likes the unexpected.”

“I hope so.” The whisper is so quiet Taako isn’t sure if he’s meant to hear it. Puzzled, he looks up at Kravitz. Dark, dark eyes stare back. Intensely. There’s a whole world in those eyes.

Taako swallows and looks back at Kravitz’ hand. Then he bites off the cap on the pen, and writes his autograph in a flourish across the back of Kravitz’ hand. The skin obstructs his line a few times, but overall he’s satisfied. “There,” he says through the cap and is surprised by how quiet his voice is. He pops the cap back on, and hands over the pen.

Kravitz won’t take it. He’s is staring at Taako like the world is about to crumble. It’s too much for Taako, who takes a few steps backwards to avoid the intensity of the stare. Alright, this is officially weird and he wants _out_.

“Alright, well, this was… this was… alright, I’m not gonna lie, my dude, it was fucking odd, and I’m gonna go home and get some sleep now, because this is all more than I can–“

“Look at your hand.”

The request makes Taako stumble over his next words. It shocks a quiet moment out of him. “Wh–“

“Please, just look at your right hand, Taako.”

Even though he’s sure that Kravitz will kill him as soon as he looks down, Taako raises his right hand and looks at the imperfect but genuine autograph. His own. His own autograph, scrawled on the exact spot Taako wrote it on Kravitz’ hand. He swallows thickly. 

 _Oh_.

“We… we need to talk,” Kravitz says, sounding incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, you can say that again…”

 

***

 

The coffee shop is the only one open at this hour. The few other customers are students doubled over their homework, hiding yawns behind their hands and probably as observant as a wall. Kravitz did some reconnaissance in the time between Barry leaving the restaurant and closing hours. It would, of course, have been perfect if Kravitz had a place of his own in the material plane. Taking Taako with him to the astral plane is out of the question. If they aren’t going to see each other again, Taako doesn’t need to know who Kravitz is. It might, in fact, scare or pressure him into making decisions he doesn’t want to be making.

And given that Taako is married, they can’t go to his place.

Kravitz is still shocked that Taako would act so nonchalant about a theoretical date. Is the marriage not a happy one?

Why does he care?

They both cradle cups of dark coffee, Taako clearly using it as an excuse to avoid looking at Kravitz, who in turn tries not to stare as much as he would like to. Taako is beautiful. Especially with his hair falling haphazardly around his face and small wrinkles framing his tired eyes. There’s something charming about seeing him undone, guards-down like this.

Someone must break the silence. “I’m sorry I jumped it on you like that, Taako, I… I didn’t know the right way to tell you, so I thought I’d… I’d show you instead.”

“You couldn’t have taken off your shirt?” Taako’s eyes rake over him, but there is an air of theatre about it. “Would’ve been more fun for me.” His eyes settle back on the coffee.

Kravitz shuffles awkwardly. “I can… I can show you if you want,” he offers, because he’s not sure what else to say.

The silence hovers in their air for a moment. Then Taako waves his hand in a dismissive motion. The black autograph stands out clearer on his lighter skin. “This isn’t a strip club, homie, just keep the shirt on. We both know what’s under there.” 

“I… I want you to know that–“

“How long have you known?” A deep frown is etched into Taako’s forehead, upsetting the few freckles that have escaped his nose. Kravitz wants to lean over and smooth it out with his fingertips. “How long have you known that we were… I was… whatever the fuck we are?” Finally, Taako looks up. His eyes are strikingly green but they are filled with malice.

It’s not unexpected, nor is it unreasonable. Still, it does make Kravitz feel nauseous. “Less than seven hours,” he responds and hopes it is the right answer.

The malice leeks out of Taako’s eyes. There must be a crack somewhere.

It is time for Kravitz to fully explain himself. If this is the last time they see each other, he wants them to part on good terms. “Listen, I want to explain myself. You don’t have to say anything, but I feel like I owe you an explanation. Is that alright?”

“Fuck, just go for it, dude.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I… I have a very demanding job, and it is sort of dangerous.”

“Oh yeah, that fucking slash across your chest, I remember that,” Taako interrupts, suddenly heated again. “What the _fuck_ , dude? That was wild.”

“It… yeah, it kind of _was_ wild,” he agrees awkwardly. It feels restricting to not be able to explain in full, but he doesn’t want to dump that all on Taako. That’s a second date revelation, even for soulmates. “That’s my point, though, Taako, my line of work is incredibly dangerous. I serve higher powers and orders, all vital for this world’s survival, and that means I can’t be selfish. Even if I want to… I can’t. You see? That is why I haven’t sought you out, not because… not for any other reason. That’s also why this doesn’t have to change anything. I’m not here to destroy your marriage or wreck your life. I found you by coincidence, and I didn’t want to disappear into the night without showing my face. I don’t think that would be right of me." 

He breathes in heavily, and looks expectantly at Taako. Everything is in his court now. Kravitz has laid out the basics. It is up to Taako to decide where they go from here.

Taako is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. The frown is still present, and his fingers are tight around his coffee cup. His shoulders are set tightly, pulled too close to his ears. It must be uncomfortable. His ears are drawn back and against his head. The lipstick, previously the color of a ripe apple, has mostly been worn down, and the glitter of his eyeshadow has transferred to his cheekbones, nose, and chin. There is something incredibly magic about how he softly shines in the one a.m. lighting of a sketchy half-abandoned coffee shop. Kravitz wishes the situation were different and he could lean across the table and soften Taako’s lip with his own. Perhaps the tension in the rest of him would melt away and run through the rough planks of the floor.

“You’re a real proper type, aren’t you?”

Kravitz chuckles and looks down at his cup. “I suppose so.”

“Mh, only proper people say ‘suppose so’ and all that shit." 

They are quiet again. It doesn’t seem like Taako has a lot to say. Kravitz tries to ignore his disappointment with the conclusion that this will indeed be the last time they meet. He will do Taako a favor by staying away from Barry until Barry breaks the Raven Queen’s rules. Perhaps he should just leave now. He’s said his part, and if Taako doesn’t want to say anything, then the conversation is over.

“I could leave,” he finally offers. “I know this is a lot, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll leave and… and leave you alone.”

For another excruciating moment, there is no answer from Taako. Then: “Take care of yourself.” A frown. “Don’t get yourself killed.” He won’t even look up.

Kravitz swallows the rejection and feels it gnawing at his throat as it slides into his body. “Stay safe, Taako,” he says softly, and reaches over to cover Taako’s hand with his. “May you and your spouse be happy.”

Death rises from the table of a late-night coffee shop and listens to the sound of his shoes wrestling the sticky floor on his way out of the door.


	3. but we made no sign, we said no word

Taako convinces himself that he’s fine. Sazed is fast asleep when he gets home, having hurried home the minute they closed, rather than staying and cleaning, and not having stayed in a shitty coffee shop for a good half an hour after the most intense conversation of his fucking life.

He pulls off his clothes as quickly as he can, suddenly desperate to be rid of any trace of the disastrous day. Within a split second, he decides to take a bath. Fuck this, he needs it. He’ll call in sick tomorrow or something, he just needs a break from life right now. He pads to the bathroom and fills up the tub. Water, soap, everything else that smells vaguely nice.

The water is scalding, but he forces himself to sink into it. His body slowly adjusts to the temperature. He leans his head back on the edge and sighs heavily. What a fucking day. It’s frustrating how the autograph on his right hand won’t come off, even when he scrubs. It was done on Kravitz, so he must be the one to remove it. Until then, Taako is stuck with the uncomfortable reminder.

He’s fine with the way his life is. Sure, Kravitz is hot as hell, but Taako has a situation he’s happy with: good sex, no emotional attachments, someone to show off to the press. Who cares if Sazed barely knows him? Who cares if his husband would be happy with anyone else who could provide him with as much fame? Who cares if the person Taako will share his whole life with will never fucking understand him? Who cares if Kravitz has shown him more consideration, kindness, and understanding than his husband ever has in barely five minutes?

Taako sure doesn’t. He sure fucking doesn’t.

His skin is all wrinkly and gross when he steps out of the bath and lets go of the spell that has kept the water warm. He drains the bath without magic and watches the water swirl down the drain with detached curiosity. Then he dries himself with a spell before he can get too cold, and waddles into the bedroom. It’s well past two a.m. now, and despite all the thoughts on his mind, he falls into meditation promptly.

 

***

 

Tea with the Raven Queen once is strange. Twice is downright odd. Nevertheless, Kravitz accepts the invitation and takes the same seat as the time before, crossing his ankles and blowing on the tea. Istus has already arrived, still knitting her infinite scarf of fate – or whatever it is; Kravitz hasn’t found the bravery to ask her.

They sit in relative quiet for an hour, and then Kravitz is dismissed. The Raven Queen cradles his face once more, and this time Istus steps forward and places a gentle kiss to his left eyelid.

 

***

 

Taako stays in bed the next day. Sazed tries to coax him out of the door, but all his arguments center on public relations, and Taako really fucking couldn’t care less, so he waves his wand grumpily and tells Sazed to stick it. Their marriage might be on the rocks, but direct threats are not something they throw around like that. It sure gets Sazed out the door in a hurry. Taako smiles victoriously into his pillow and goes to sleep.

When he wakes up, it’s three p.m. He stretches like a cat in the sun and tumbles out of the sheets to grab a breakfast-lunch-tea combo in the kitchen. It becomes an improvised omelet that he brings with him back to bed, from where he turns on the TV hanging on the opposite wall. He logs into Netflix and is soon criticizing old episodes of _Project Runway_. It is not quite enough to distract him from the restlessness and anxiety building up within him, but it is enough to keep him from erupting. 

Lup calls at eight. For a second, he thinks Sazed might’ve tattled, but it turns out his husband doesn’t care that much. He and Lup share a Netflix account, and she saw his activity and decided to figure out if he’s okay. There’s a loaded question.

“I’m fine, Lulu, it just got late last night and I didn’t wanna be a cranky boss all night,” he explains and squints as Tim Gunn expresses his appreciation of a butt-ugly fabric color. Not even the 10 years since the episode aired are a good excuse for that opinion.

Angus blabbers in the background, real words mixed in with made-up ones. Now there’s a way to live: shrouded in mystery, only understood by few. Lup coos happily at him and then hands him over to Barry. “Y’sure? You weren’t swept off your feet by Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”

Good thing Taako isn’t consuming anything; he would’ve had it stuck in his throat immediately. “That’s what I called him, too!” he exclaims, before he realizes what he’s done. “I mean, uhh, fuck, he didn’t come onto me, and I’m married, Lup.”

Lup snorts. “I’m married, you’re ‘married’. Your marriage is a publicity stunt, no offence, babe. You know what’s good press? Divorce.”

“Is this your way of telling me you don’t like Sazed?”

“You seem to forget the other thousand times I’ve told you I don’t like him,” she points out impatiently. “He’s pretty and all that, but, Koko, you can’t just choose a dude ‘cause he’s pretty and good in the sack. It doesn’t work for all of us.” In the background, he hears Barry laugh. Yeah, Lup has definitely sent her husband a wink. “Seriously, I don’t care what did or didn’t happen with TDH, it’s time for you to reevaluate that relationship. It’s been, what, half a year? And you and I both know you’re holding onto this for other reasons than what you’re admitting to yourself – and _none_ of them include actually liking Sazed or being happy like this. I didn’t wanna say anything ‘cause I figured you’d figure it out yourself, but it’s getting ridiculous, babes.”

Istus. Who the fuck ordered a therapist? “Shut the fuck up, Lulu." 

She laughs. “See? I hit something there, now get your fucking ass in gear, cook some dinner, and think about your divorce options. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, we’re about to tuck Angus in.”

“’Kay, bye, asshole.”

“See ya, idiot.” 

He resists an urge to fling the phone across the room but simply drops it into the bed and groans loudly. Is it too much to ask for to just ignore the world and his problems for a little while? To just exist and eat some omelets? Apparently.

Lup might have a point. Might. If all he wants is sex, no emotional attachments, and PR, well, he can do the latter two without Sazed, and the first doesn’t have to involve a relationship at all, just a good ability to take people home with him in the evening. The idea of ending the marriage, though… it doesn’t sit right with him. It makes tiny currents run into his arms and legs and he wants to shake them out.

It’s not like he hasn’t had all these thoughts before, he has, he just prefers to stop the thinking at this point, because otherwise he has to examine _why_ he doesn’t want to end a relationship that causes distress, and that will open a can of emotional worms. Taako doesn’t do emotions. He builds walls and barricades himself inside. Taako’s good in here.

Feeling those currents run through him, he digs out his stone of far speech and starts fiddling with it. It gives him an uneasy feeling of calm to spin it around and let it do the shaking he wants to be doing.

Even if he should end it with Sazed, it doesn’t mean that he wants to shack it up with Kravitz. Relationships are still something Taako doesn’t do. If he and Sazed divorce, he’ll just go back to being single Taako with no attachments whatsoever. Relationships are … scary. They involve emotional investment, trust, honesty. None of that is Taako’s jam.

Still… his mind keeps returning to the understanding glint in Kravitz’ dark eyes in the light of the late-night coffee shop, and his icy hand as it gently covered Taako’s, Taako’s skin caught between deadly cold and burning heat for one beat of the heart, and the faint smell of smoke.

A relationship is not on the horizon, but if Kravitz wants to hook up, Taako’s not opposed.

“Hello?” The voice crackles against Taako’s chest and he yelps, feeling as though his soul stumbles out of his body for a moment. “Please state your business.” It’s Kravitz. Oh. Right. Taako was fiddling with the stone while thinking about him. The stone must have interpreted it as an attempt to call Kravitz. Well, there’s a nifty solution called ‘hanging up’. Unlike phones, stones of far-speech aren’t capable of calling up the latest number – because the stones don’t have numbers associated with them. They’re sort of the next step after a burner phone.

Taako squeezes the stone, briefly wonders why they’ve been designed to hang up when you squeeze the life out of them, and watches as the blue light is extinguished. There. No more talking for ole’ Taako today. It’s time to cook dinner and forget about his problems.

He’s halfway through cutting a carrot when the stone around his neck vibrates. Giving it a playful tap, he says: “Please redirect your fan-mail to paper, can’t put your voice on my fridge, babes. If you’re calling about an interview, I’ve got a quote for ya: use the fuckin’ phone instead.”

“Taako?” Oh. Shit. Did he– no, there’s no way he could know Taako just called. That would go against the technology of the stones. It’s not possible.

He swallows. “H-hey, crab cakes. What’s up with the call, my dude? Kinda thought you’d said everything you wanted to say ‘n’ all that?”

“I… I did, uh…” Painful silence. Taako has stopped chopping. His hands are leaned against the counter, hair falling into his eyes as he leans forward. “Sorry, I… I shouldn’t have called, you’re right.”

Fuck it, they’re talking anyway, right? “If you’ve got something to say, big boy, just spill it." 

Kravitz clears his throat. “Well, I… I just wanted to ask something, but I’m realizing it’s none of my business, nor is it my place to ask, and that’s why I’m just going to… hang up, now.”

Biting into his bottom lip, Taako turns around to lean his lower back against the counter instead. He inspects his fingernails. “Now hang on, how about you ask me, and if it’s too much, I won’t answer,” he suggests, too curious about what Kravitz wants to ask to be worried or chastise himself for continuing the conversation.

“Alright, but do feel free to not answer me. About two-three months ago, you had bruises on your arms. They looked like… Taako, they looked like someone had pulled at you or something. What caused them?”

Oh, yeah, that. He’s forgotten about that. Well, not forgotten, but he didn’t realize Kravitz would know about it. It would be easy to say ‘Sorry, Krav, too personal’, but the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s been around since Lup’s call convinces him to say: “A misunderstanding.” 

“With your spouse?”

Ding, ding, ding. Good fucking guess, buddy. Taako closes his eyes and pushes air through his nose. “Alright, homie, that’s it for the questions, I’m putting you on mute.”

“No, sorry, I’ll hang up, I–“

“Wait a sec, a question for a question, I think that’s fair. How’d you get the scars? They look brutal, my man – kinda thought you were dead.”

The other end is very quiet for a while, and Taako wonders if he’s stumbled upon some tragic backstory. Well, duh, few scars have happy stories behind them. But if Kravitz wants to know about that blunder with Sazed, Taako needs something on him. Just _something_. Something to keep them balanced. He can’t trust someone with any information without at least getting some in return.

When Kravitz speaks, Taako gets a longer response than he thought he would. “It happened a long time ago. I was… young. Very young. Someone in my village was accused of heinous crimes that they had not committed. I knew they were innocent, but I couldn’t speak up without accidentally implicating myself. My village, it was very isolated. We had no real law enforcers to speak of, nor was there ever a real investigation. The accused was simply someone generally disliked in the community. I wasn’t going to do anything, I was too scared, but then they were sentenced to death, and I couldn’t stay quiet. I spoke up. I confessed to the crimes that I had not committed to save the accused. They were angry with me, because they thought I had been a coward, so my execution became messy. The scars were a result of a knife dragged through me. I… that didn’t… that didn’t kill me. They threw me on the… on the side of the road and though that was it, but I was still alive, and a kind woman took me in and nursed me to health. A cleric later offered to remove them, but when he tried it wasn’t possible. I’m sorry, I should have tried harder; I didn’t realize someone else would be burdened with them.”

It’s a lot to process. “ _Shit_ , dude.” He can’t believe that Kravitz has gone through all of that but his biggest concern is that Taako might be uncomfortable with the scars. Sure, they aren’t pretty, but they have an edge to them, and Taako is all about what is unconventionally appealing. Nothing says ‘not afraid to cut someone’ like scars like those.

Against all odds, Kravitz chuckles on the other end. “Yes, it is… not a happy story.”

Taako whistles in response. “At least it has a happy ending, right? Is that,” oh, he might be going over the line here, asking so many questions but offering nothing in return, but whatever, he’s curious, and he never promised anything, “is that why you went into that whole ‘higher order’-jiggamaroo?”

Again, Kravitz chuckles. “’Jiggamaroo’?” he questions, but continues before Taako has time to defend his choice of words. “Yes, that is how I ended up where I am now.”

Admitting to himself that this conversation will not be done within the minute, Taako turns to attack the carrot once more. “You’re real sketch about what exactly you do,” he points out, and takes a quick glance at the clock. It’ll still be another four hours until Sazed is home. Plenty of time to interrogate Kravitz on speakers (stones only have the speakers option but still) and cook a dope-ass meal.

There is the sound of metal clinking against porcelain. Is Kravitz having tea? That would be very fitting, considering his whole ‘proper’ deal. “I am,” he simply agrees, humor in his voice. Taako realizes he has not seen Kravitz smile in earnest. How does he look, eyes crinkled, the corner of his lips upturned, pores radiating happiness? Urgh, okay, less gay thoughts.

“Is it the kinda deal where you gotta kill me if you tell me?” There are no measuring cups _anywhere_ , he keeps telling Sazed to fucking clean up after himself. It’s been at least three days since they’ve touched this kitchen – it’s easier to take advantage of the restaurant for dinner – but Sazed still hasn’t done his part.

For some reason, his joke must’ve been a lot funnier than he thought it was, because Kravitz bursts out in a genuine laugh, and Taako feels his heart clench. “Something like that.”

Taako licks a spoon, deep in thought. Is homeboy a part of some secret militia or government initiative? That would explain why he’s convinced he can’t have a love life. He’s probably worried he’d get someone else in trouble by association. That seems to be the kind of thing he worries about, at least. “You’ve got a kickass cleric with you." 

“I don’t; I’m a bard.”

Now _that_ is interesting. Taako grins and sprinkles spice like it’s confetti. “So what’s your poison: acoustic covers of top hits or original work?” Many bards in the entertainment business enjoy singing on-the-nose songs for spells, like ‘Staying Alive’ for healing spells, and on one hand it’s tacky as fuck, and on the other hand Taako immediately wants to hear Kravitz’ rendition of ‘Wonderwall’.

“Uh, neither.” He sounds… embarrassed? “I prefer folksongs. Very old hit songs, I suppose you could call them.”

That’s perfect. “And you probably play a lute and everything.” No answer. Yep, embarrassed. Taako laughs. “Dude, that’s so typical. I mean, that’s hipster as fuck and you’ve got an aesthetic goin’, but you gotta admit that’s extra.”

“I thought you would appreciate ‘extra’,” Kravitz argues, but that just broadens Taako’s smile.

“You’ve looked me up! Excellent. What’d you think about the show? Never mind, fuck that, tell me everything you liked about it and forget the rest, I don’t care about that." 

“I…” Taako slurps loudly. “The gloves explain why you have only recently started to get blisters and cuts. Did you enchant them?”

He hums while whirling around the kitchen, looking for that damn knife. “Good catch, homie. I’d wear some now but Sazed says I need to come off as ‘hard-working’ in my own restaurant, like that’s gonna matter to my fans.”

“Sazed, he’s the host, right?” He sounds awfully interested. Taako twists the wedding band around his finger, and considers what to say. Then: “And… and your husband.”

Taako drops his hand and gets back to the cooking. Just keep moving. Don’t think. “You’ve really done your homework, homeboy,” he says with fake cheeriness. “The ‘it’ couple, that’s us.”

They are quiet for a while after that. Suddenly, it is glaringly obvious how hectic their conversation has been, full of nervous energy and superficial ease. Now that they have reached a bump, it’s harder to get back into the swing of things. Taako pushes the uneasy feeling away and focuses on the food. He won’t break the silence first. He won’t _break_ first.

“I’m sorry, Taako, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but … are you happy?”

This is too much. They’ve been friendly, and Kravitz has spilled an emotional story, but this is pushing it. It’s no one’s fucking business but his own if Taako is happy, and he’s done with people thinking they know what’s best for him. First Lup, now Kravitz – at least Lup knows him. Kravitz is a stranger. “Hey, no of _fence_ , Krav, but that’s none of your fucking business, and I’m gonna hang up now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–“ Silence. The stone is wrapped tightly in Taako’s left hand, strangled by his rough touch. He breathes in deeply through his nose, out through his mouth, and lets go of the stone. Dinner. Focus.

When midnight rolls around, Taako is still full from dinner and sitting in the bed again, wine glass in hand and a horror movie on Netflix. He’s yelling at the main character when Sazed walks in the door, still wearing his work uniform. Immediately all Taako’s earlier thoughts and considerations return and slap him square in the face. He grips the wine glass and sets his jaw.

To spite his attempts at being honest with himself, he exclaims: “Hey, babes, how was work without the hot chef?” Fuck all that self-reflection shit.

His change in attitude from that morning clearly surprises Sazed, who lets out a breathless chuckle. His condescending laughter is nothing like Kravitz’ genuine amusement. “Boring,” he has the decency to reply as he pulls of his shoes and crosses the small apartment to land in the bed next to Taako. “I would’ve much rather been here with you, watching… _Would You Rather_? Are you really watching that again?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were snoring through it last time, couldn’t get into it.”

Sazed shuffles closer on the bed, pushing himself up to sit leaned against Taako. “How about we skip directly to the ‘chill’ part of the evening?” he suggests with a grin and places a kiss under Taako’s earlobe.

Taako hums appreciatively and uses Mage Hand to get a hold of the remote and pause the movie. “I can be persuaded,” he purrs and turns his head to catch Sazed’s lips with his own. It’s not a very comfortable position. In a quick motion, he breaks the kiss and swings his leg around Sazed’s waist, effectively straddling him. Sazed, grinning, accepts his fate and falls back into the sheets, pulling Taako down with him.

Hot breaths mingle as clothes is ripped off. Before Taako knows it, he feels sharp nails dragging down his back and he lets out a startled moan before he is struck with the bizarre realization that Kravitz will see the marks. Immediately, he reaches behind to grab Sazed’s hands and force them into the sheets. He ignores Sazed’s smug grin, closes his eyes, and must fight the urge to imagine Kravitz and his genuine concern and kindness and cold hands underneath him. He focuses on the physical sensations and surrenders to the building heat in his stomach and groin.

After the act, Taako excuses himself to the bathroom. He brushes his hair and checks his back. Despite his quick reaction, four red stripes run from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, which means Kravitz has a matching pattern. It shouldn’t bother him. Kravitz is a big boy, he knows about sex, and he probably assumes Taako and Sazed – a married couple – is having it. For some reason, though, it makes him feel embarrassed. Maybe not about the ‘having sex with someone else’ part, because that isn’t any of Kravitz’ business, but the ‘with Sazed’ part embarrasses him because of their earlier conversation. _With your spouse?_ How the fuck did Kravitz even know to ask that? 

Whatever, fuck, it doesn’t matter. They probably won’t even talk again. Taako’s life is Taako’s business.

Never mind the fact that sex with Sazed has completely lost its appeal after Taako has started questioning his motivation to stay in the marriage, and that now all three of his official arguments for staying have been defeated.

 

***

 

Kravitz is not sure what to do. It seems clear to him that Taako is unhappy, and although that should be none of his concern, since they are only strangers, it is. Perhaps it is a part of the bond, no one has ever explained that to him, but he feels drawn to Taako, not just as a romantic interest, but as a fully-realized person. He wants… he wants Taako to be happy, and despite the funny nicknames and goofy comments, he can tell that the elf is the saddest person Kravitz has met for a century. Who can look at someone so radiant but so miserable and not want to help? If only Taako were more open, then perhaps Kravitz could have slipped a recommendation for a therapist through the cracks and helped him make sense of everything. 

But he’s been shut out in the cold, and from out here there is not much he can do. He doesn’t want to call Taako again. The first time was a mistake already – his goddess-granted powers enabled him to call back the stone that called him, though he could not exactly tell Taako this when asked, as this would be impossible for practically anyone else – and he wants to respect Taako’s right to isolation.

When the Raven Queen summons him for a mission, a few days later, he is relieved to receive a task that will distract him from his worries for a while. However, when he gets there, two tea cups stand at the ready. He is almost angry with the goddess for summoning him without having a proper job for him, even though he knows he should be honored that she chooses to spend another hour having tea with him. It is no doubt an admission of her favoritism. However, he can feel himself fuming. He needs to work.

He needs… something to distract himself from the whole situation with Taako, because otherwise he’ll be in the material plane in a flash, trying to talk to Taako and help him find a professional and maybe just hold him and… and, and, and… and it’s all more than Kravitz should ever do, because his obligations lie here, with the goddess looking expectantly at him.

Anger dampening, Kravitz takes a seat and accepts the tea. This time it is a strong lemon. Although he is slowly letting go of his anger, he cannot relax, and when the Raven Queen says nothing but simply stirs her drink, he starts tapping his forefinger absentmindedly against his arm. Heaps of anxious energy travel down his finger and find release. It’s a small activity and his mind still races, but it’s better than nothing.

“Do you know why I have been inviting you for tea, Kravitz?” the Raven Queen unexpectedly says as she navigates her cup under her veil. It looks much easier than it should be, though one should not be surprised by a goddess doing something flawlessly.

Her question nags at him. He, foolishly it would seem, assumed that she simply liked his company, or that perhaps Istus suggested they become better acquainted after his centuries of service. In fact, he started to believe that perhaps the goddess regarded him as a sort of son-figure. It was a fanciful thought that he never truly believed in, but it is still a surprise that he should have been looking for a meaning behind her tea invitations when he assumed ‘pleasure’ would be enough. He is not disappointed or saddened – he does not deserve the kind of familiarity he blasphemously imagined – but he is taken aback. “I… I regret to say that I do not, my queen.”

She smacks her lips behind the veil, a shockingly loud sound in the vague barely-there room, and puts her cup down. When she reaches out, fingertips gently grazing his jawline, she is warm. Normally, they are the same temperature. This change sticks the air to his throat. “I hoped to show you that although we have an important job, and though it must still come first in every aspect of our lives, we are still permitted our pleasures in our undeath.”

He blinks, and though he is not sure if they even exist, he searches for her eyes. “I am sorry, my queen, but I don’t think I understand,” he manages to say, head still gently cupped by her hands. 

“I do not know your personal business, Kravitz, nor do I frankly wish to, but I do know that it has been careless of me to let you devote every breath you take to this work for centuries. I believe you have earned yourself some leniency after the years. Do you not agree, my dearest raven?” As she speaks, she draws back her hands and retrieves her cup, lazily stirring. Though there is no telling, Kravitz feels as though she is watching him carefully throughout.

It is the greatest expression of gratitude Kravitz has ever experienced a goddess show a follower. For many seconds, he simply stares, but then his vision starts blurring and soon soft trails of tears run down his cheeks. There is no reaction from the Raven Queen in response to this development. She simply stirs her tea and lets him sob quietly.

While he cries, the room around them warps into an early 20th century study. The Raven Queen’s chair is transformed into a lush armchair, wine-red and regal. Flames crackle in the fireplace. Underneath Kravitz’ feet lies a luscious, dark green carpet. His chair has been transformed into an armchair as well, this one far inferior to hers but incredibly comfortable. It nearly makes him cry harder.

Kravitz is not used to kindness.

“Thank you, my queen.” The words bubble out of him like his sobs and wobble slightly. However, they find their footing, and his stream of tears slowly subsides. Suddenly embarrassed of having cried in front of a goddess, he wipes his face and grips the cup, which has gone cold. “I cannot express my gratitude to its fullest extent.”

The Raven Queen lets him speak and nods slowly as he does, but does not seem upset that he does not perform a soliloquy. “I hope you can find something to fill your spare time with. As long as you come when you are summoned and are fully committed to your mission for as long as it lasts, you are free to spend the rest of your time as you wish – of course still while following my rules.”

“Of course, my queen,” he echoes immediately. He could not dream to do otherwise. She raises her cup in acknowledgement.

Silence sets in after that, but this time it is far more comfortable, and Kravitz finds that he is able to relax. He is dismissed once the hour has passed. Why she is so preoccupied with these sessions lasting exactly an hour, he does not know. Perhaps she has an agreement with Istus. Either way, he returns to the astral plane in a daze.

 

***

 

Alright, fuck, this is it. Even though he doesn’t want to look too hard at why he’s gotten himself in this position to begin with, Taako knows that it has to end now. There’s nothing left for him in this marriage, and even though he wants to throw up every time he considers leaving Sazed, it’s the only thing he can do if he wants to get out of this weird slump he’s been in for what feels like years. There’s no real reason why he should be in this slump, it’s just there, and he’s done, he’s so fucking done pretending he’s not drowning. It ends now. It fucking ends now. 

He’s pacing the floor, wringing his hands, waiting for Sazed to come home. There’s a whole speech in his head even though he knows he’ll throw it the fuck out of the window as soon as the conversation starts. He’s also downed half a bottle of wine, so there’s that. It’s not a conversation he can do sober. He can’t do any serious conversation without a little alcohol in his blood, it’s just a fact of life. Lup’s the one who does the whole ‘honesty’ thing.

As one could have expected, Taako is frazzled by Sazed’s appearance as the latter arrives with breakfast: steaming waffles from the diner on the corner. Suddenly, Taako goes through every argument against talking to Sazed or even splitting up at all, and he’s caught in a maelstrom of doubt battled by self-loathing (“come on, you fucking coward, you’re so fucking pathetic you can’t even start a conversation that’s been coming for months”). In the end, Lup’s voice rings through, and he forces himself to clear his throat.

“Hey, uh, dude, we gotta… we gotta do that… ‘talking’ thing,” he begins and cringes over how pathetic he sounds. How weak. Good fucking start. It’s really no wonder most guys run in the opposite direction when they’re faced with his attention.

Sazed looks equally startled and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, letting the waffles sit on the messy bedroom floor. “About?” he questions carefully.

“Us…yeah, us or whatever.” Taako pointedly does not sit down on the bed but leans against the wall, enjoying the little power he gains over Sazed by standing. He can’t get himself to look directly at Sazed, though. “I… I want out.”

“You want out?” There’s no reading Sazed’s tone, and Taako refuses to look over at him. Instead, he just nods. This is apparently funny to Sazed, who barks out a laugh, and says: “Yeah, right. Whatever, it’s time for breakfast.”

What the fuck? Taako frowns, and finally looks over at Sazed, who’s seriously reaching for the waffles. “I’m serious as heart attack, dude,” he exclaims, indignant to be treated like a child. Sazed is the childish one! He’s the one, who’s been leeching off of Taako’s success. In the first months of their marriage, Sazed was the one always up in Taako’s business, constantly needy. This faded and has by now completely stopped being the case, but still… still! Taako’s not the kid here!

Sazed rolls his fucking eyes and Taako has to restrain himself from throwing him out of the door using one of his spells. “Please, Taako, I might’ve taken that seriously a while ago, but you can’t fool me anymore. You need me more than I need you. Just sit down and I’ll give you a nice morning blowjob like nothing’s happened.” 

Disgusted, Taako moves two steps further away from the bed. His nose crinkles. “You’re not fucking touching me,” he establishes harshly, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m throwing you out of this apartment, and I’m filing for a divorce, now get the fuck out!”

Sazed sighs. He _sighs_ , puts away the breakfast, and stands. “Alright, so you’re serious. Well, you have to know you won’t make it without me.” That air of arrogance he has going for him is disgusting. Taako wants to wave a hand at it to shoo it away. There’s no reason Sazed should be this fucking smug. He’s done nothing. Taako’s the star. If anyone’s not making it, it’s Sazed!

“Oh, would you look at that, you just got fired, too,” he shoots back, voice growing in volume. “Now get the fuck outta my apartment or I’ll blast your ass to the moon! I don’t fucking care about what you think you know about me, I know you’re wrong!”

The piece of shit smirks and Taako is literal seconds away from casting the nastiest spell he knows. So quickly Taako doesn’t realize what’s going on, Sazed steps into Taako’s personal space, breath so close Taako can feel it on his upper lip. The small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “I know that you’re sad, pathetic, and – most of all – lonely. You’re so lonely you let yourself get married in the name of PR because you thought no one could ever love you for real. You surround yourself with fans so you can pretend that you matter, but you know that they’re all just shouts in the void, because you really, truly do not matter, and the second you lose any of your appeal, all of those declarations of love will turn to disgust – or, even worse, they’ll forget all about you. The only people, who genuinely love you, are forced to by blood, and they pity you for the person you’ve become. Am I getting close?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but Taako feels as though his words have been poured into his skull and rattled around in there.

“Get out.” His voice is heavy and thick. It’s porridge. Ugly, swollen. “Get the fuck out.”

The floor creaks as Sazed does his bidding, closing the door provokingly quietly behind him. He wants to make a point: Taako is the only one who cares.

The only one, who’s crying.

He sobs on the floor for hours. The waffles smell so sickeningly sweet he has to throw them out. Despite his growing headache, developing dehydration, and a sore back, he stays on the floor, ugly sobs tearing through his body – continuing even as he is unable to produce more tears. Dry heaving is even worse. It hurts his throat and makes him cough.

Eventually, he manages to drag himself up into the bed, where he collapses. The sobs subsided, he simply stares blankly before him, seeing nothing at all. Everything is static. It’s too far away to have any effect on him. For another hour, he listens to the busy traffic of Goldcliff. Numbness spreads. He’s not sure he could lift his hand if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to, so it doesn’t matter.

Four hours have passed when his phone rings. He lets the ringtone play, watching the phone, detached, from the bed while it dances on the kitchen counter next to the empty wine bottle. It is a shame he emptied the rest of it and not started a new one, otherwise he would be more motivated to pick up his phone. The ringtone eventually fades, and he, with immense effort, turns is head on the pillow to stare into the other wall for the next hour. However, the phone starts ringing again. And again. And again. And again. 

The fifth time, he finally drags himself out of bed, and although the caller ID makes him hesitate, he picks up. “If it’s not important I don’t wanna hear it, Lulu, leave me alone.”

“Don’t you fucking dare hang up on me, asshole!” Lup all but yells back, her anger so prominent his phone nearly heats up. “You texted me you’d do it, so I wanted to check up on my favorite brother. How’s he doing?”

It’s tempting to hang up, turn off the phone, and go back to staring into the wall. He feels empty after so many hours of crying. “Fine.” 

“’Absolutely shit’, alright, understood. Well, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. Do you want me to come over?” He looks around. The apartment is dark. Somehow evening has come without him noticing. It’s a good thing he has the evening off, otherwise he would have to make some embarrassing calls. “Taako?” Lup prompts on the other end. He blinks slowly. “Okay, I’m coming over, I’m not leaving you alone right now. Just get in bed, I’ll bring dinner.”

He’s accidentally skipped two meals, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “I’m not hungry.”

“Okay, but _I_ am, and I love you but I need food so I’ll be bringing some. Now, get into bed and find something terrible on Netflix for us to watch. I’ll be over in less than thirty minutes.” 

His hand is numb when he hangs up, and everything still feels like a haze, but he has just enough mind to look through Netflix. While the summaries, with their words and everything, don’t make much sense to him, he manages to find a horrid-looking teen comedy and hovers over it while he waits for Lup to arrive. He’s not okay, he’s far from alright, and he barely feels alive. But Lup says she loves him, and he clings to that. Later, when she tucks herself into bed next to him, he clings to her.

 

***

 

There is one problem with being immortal and recently being granted the opportunity to rediscover life: Kravitz has no idea where to start. It is not as though he can start himself a whole life, but picking up a hobby seems like too little when he can, guilt-free, do so much more. He solves the problem by travelling the material plane. His destination is chosen randomly or with the basis of some superfluous idea, such as the day when he is gripped by a memory of sharing a stew with his younger sister, and seeks out one of those modern, hipster restaurants with rustic menus.

The restaurant is packed, and from his place on a little stool, he listens to the conversation of two art students and their lamenting over a Barbara Kruger-related paper. Their passionate displeasure with the assignment is a good reminder for Kravitz as to why he should reintroduce himself to, well, living. He hasn’t been truly passionate about anything for a while.

Chewing on the food that doesn’t quite taste like home, the particular taste palette lost a few hundred years back, he decides that even though it might feel like a small project, he will rediscover his love for music – and not just his affinity for his lute, but rather pick up new instruments. It would be a good way to have something of his own, outside of the astral plane, and perhaps also a way to interact with mortals while still staying on their periphery. For although he has permission to roam as he pleases, he can still not settle down anywhere, not for good, and then it is better to be a faint acquaintance – a person you heard playing at a bar once, or someone you talked about musical theory with for the evening.

That same evening, he buys a guitar. His centuries old lute is safe on the astral plane, where no one can accuse him of having stolen a museum artefact. The guitar seems like the most modern string instrument he can pluck at in his free time without too much attention. He likes the sound of it, too. It’s classic. He considers taking music lessons, but drops the idea when he realizes that he would be unable to stay on schedule, should he be enveloped by a mission for several weeks or even months in a row. Instead, he uses his dusty bard magic and intuits his way to an understanding of the instrument.

He is distracted by a mission not long after his first attempt at bringing out a melody. It takes him two weeks to reign in the escaped souls. Their cries stay with him, echoing in his mind, when he sits on the forest floor with the guitar, plucking out notes that, via his bard magic, identify themselves in letters of smoke. He spells out ‘B-A-D D-A-E’ and listens to the caws of the ravens overhead. Around him, the leaves fall to their deaths. He’s surrounded by their corpses. And it’s peaceful. It feels like home.

He bends his neck and plucks again, and when his skin is reddened and calloused, he doesn’t heal it.

 

***

 

“I was afraid no one else would have me.” It’s a confession long in the making. Taako swallows harshly and then laughs uncomfortably, tapping his calloused fingers rapidly against his leg. It’s taken him, oh, just about two months of intensive therapy for him to admit it like this, even though they’ve skirted around the issue for a while.

In front of him, his therapist, Lucretia, readjusts her glasses. She has a sophisticated, wise aura about her even though she is technically fresh out of school. “That must not be a nice fear to have,” she prompts gently, though there is a firm quality to her voice. She wants him to reflect over it, not for her to analyze him, even though she could if she wanted to. It’s harder this way – it’s easier to just have people tell you who you are – but Taako has to begrudgingly admit that it’s making him confront himself a lot more.

Snorting, he slaps his restless hand against his thigh and says, “Not fuckin’ hilarious, no,” he agrees harshly, but Lucretia doesn’t even blink. She’s used to his antics by now. “Not unless you wanna be alone for the rest of your life.”

“Very few people do,” she supplies. He likes how she’s not writing anything down while they’re talking. It really seems like she’s listening. It makes him want to talk. “I think it’s normal to want to be desired.” 

He shakes his head. “Desire’s somethin’ else, of course people wanna fuck me, I look like this! They just don’t wanna stick around after, and I don’t even fuckin’ blame them.”

“Wanted, then,” she corrects herself with patience but the same firmness to her voice.

He shrugs and starts fiddling with his hands to have something to do. His fingertips have gotten increasingly calloused, particularly those on his right hand.  It’s not something he can pick away, but he doesn’t want to anyway. He knows what’s causing it, and it’s sort of comforting that the universe still thinks he’s capable of the type of love the bond suggests. Even if it is a fucking lie. “Right… well, who’d want someone incapable of love?”

“Do you love your sister?” Her question is an insult. It makes him freeze, and he looks up from his hands, indignant that she’d even dare question his love for Lup. 

“What the fuck, Dr. Phil? Of course, I fucking love my sister, what kinda question is that?" 

Lucretia just smiles. “Then you’re capable of love, aren’t you?” 

She clearly thinks she’s got him there, but she isn’t understanding what he’s saying. Frustrated, he flings himself backwards into the couch, hitting the back of it heavily. “You’ve got a fucked up family life if you think loving my sister is the same as loving the guy I’m dating.” 

“I don’t think the two are that dissimilar,” Lucretia argues, and he has to look up at her, eyebrow raised, deadpan look in his eyes. She holds up her hands in defense. “They incorporate the same elements. Trust, mutual respect, honesty… Of course, there are some pretty obvious differences, but I think you’re focusing too much on those when you could be paying attention to the similarities.”

This is all getting a little complicated for old Taako. He blows out a breath between pursed lips. “I think time’s up, doc,” he says, jumping to a stand. There are five minutes left, but he’s had enough, thanks. She tells him to “think about it”, which he responds to by waving dismissively at her on his way out of the door.

For some reason, by the time he’s home, he is crying. Again. It always ends like this.

 

***

 

The pub is rowdy and lively and everything the astral plane is not. Kravitz, having just returned from another mission, decided to immerse himself in life to forget about the cult, whose unholy rituals included cutting into the chests of corpses. It reminded him of his own death in such a degree that he, both at the crime scene and after reporting to the Raven Queen, was forced to relieve his stomach of its contents.

This place is certainly the place to go if one is looking for life, and he’s met someone else lugging around a guitar on their back. Their name is Roswell, they’re a redhead, and apparently a passionate songwriter with few places to show their art. They’re the one to approach Kravitz, and soon they’re both in a passionate discussion about folk music – old and modern. Although Roswell has an affinity for country music specifically, they’re more than happy to discuss the older genre.

Roswell’s friend, Isaak, joins them later in the evening, when both Roswell and Kravitz are two beers into the evening, and although Isaak is not a musician, he’s happy to join in on the conversation and mainly listen while the other two laugh about their opposing views on polka. After Isaak declares that he doesn’t know how to play polka, but he does know how to dance it, he pulls Kravitz out of his seat, and the stout, 30-year-old construction worker leads Kravitz in a few steps of polka that doesn’t match the Queen being played from the pub’s speakers.

Kravitz doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he’s laughed like this.

Too elated by the lightness of his company to be embarrassed, he takes a seat again, and Roswell mock-applauds the two. Not long after, they decide to head outside for a while. Kravitz is unbothered by the cold but is reminded of it when their breaths show as white smoke. Though their plan initially was to pull out their instruments, the cold air sobers them out of these thoughts; it’s far too cold. Instead, they continue their chat, Roswell dancing a little on their feet, Isaak pulling his shoulders to his ears, and Kravitz pocketing his hands for show.

After about ten minutes, Roswell suddenly slaps their face and checks their phone, apologizing profusely. His cousin, Ren, is arriving for her Candlenights holiday tomorrow, they promised to have all sorts of things ready for her, and it’s already well past midnight. They exchange phone numbers with Kravitz, hugs Isaak, and is gone in a flash. 

Left are Kravitz and Isaak, who with a chuckle over Roswell’s antics decide to take a walk in the moonlight. The conversation turns less animated after that, but every lull is comfortable, and Kravitz still laughs more than he has for forever. When Isaak says that he needs to head home, Kravitz is the one to suggest they exchange numbers, but Isaak is the one to initiate the kiss. 

Stunned but not entirely surprised, Kravitz, in his haze of alcohol and laughter and not-yet-forgotten desperation, responds with enthusiasm, cupping the back of the shorter man’s head firmly. Their lips move awkwardly, the cold seeping into their bones, and it doesn’t feel like a complete kiss when Kravitz breaks it, dark eyes squinting to focus on Isaak’s face. After a moment of silence, they both burst into laughter like teenagers. They separate with a few jokes, and then Kravitz is left alone, but he’s never felt less lonely.

With a smile, he returns to the pub, but he is happy to sit by himself for the rest of the opening hours.

 

***

 

Lup has her entire head in Taako’s fridge, when she suddenly yells out: “OH, yeah! By the way!” Victoriously pulling out the ice cream, she saunters back to bed, where she flops next to Taako, who has an arm flung over his face. “Barry mentioned one of his colleagues was talking to Tall, Dark, and Handsome the other day.” She struggles with the container, snatches one of the spoons, and digs in.

It takes Taako a moment to realize whom she’s talking about. When he does, he groans softly, and decides that yeah, maybe it is time for some ice cream. “It’s been fuckin’ _months_ , how haven’t you seen like thirty other hot guys you want me to hook up with?”

Lup shrugs, cheeks puffed out from the sheer amount of ice cream stuck in there. Once she’s swallowed most of it, she says, “What? I haven’t seen anyone _hotter_ since, and Barry said he kept staring at you _long_ before he bumped into you. If you ask me, bumping into you was s’posed to be the first step in this elaborate plan of seducing you, but your rude ass scared him away.”

She’s not totally wrong about that last part. “He wasn’t trying to seduce me,” he continues to argue, not sure why it’s so important to him to defend Kravitz. Maybe because he’s fucked up any chance they had. 

It seems to confuse Lup, too, who readjusts on the bed to sit in front of him rather than beside him. “How the fuck do you know that?” she asks, eyes squinting, and raises her spoon. “Tell me or I gauge your eyes out.”

Taako grimaces and physically pulls away from her. “Yikes, I can’t believe Barry just goes to sleep around you.” She just shakes the spoon a little. “Fine, fine, he, uh, kinda showed up after I’d closed up the restaurant? And this is gonna sound insane, but uhhh he figured out we were, y’know… a match. I wrote my name on his hand and whaddyaknow, there it was, on my hand, too…” Nervous, he swallows.

Lup, predictably, looks like she’s seriously considering murder. “TDH is your fucking match, and you didn’t tell me?? You didn’t tell _me_ , your better half, the other side of the same coin, the peas to your pod?? You’re unbe-fucking-lievable! NO–” she snaps, grabbing the ice cream from him, “You’re gettin’ absolutely _none_ of this until you’ve told me everything, you traitor.”

It’s deserved, but Taako’s ears still droop. “That’s everything! Well, basically… he called me, on my far-stone, and we chatted for a bit–“

“And you exchanged numbers and you’ve been sharing heart emojis ever since?” Lup interrupts, tone sarcastic enough to indicate that she has an idea that Taako fucked something up along the way.

He really, really deserves all of this, but he looks at her pleadingly, and that does get her to shut up and pat him on the arm. “Anyway, he kinda pissed me off so I hung up and made it pretty clear I didn’t want to talk anymore, and we haven’t since. Like, at all.”

Now eating the ice cream like it’s popcorn at the movies, Lup crosses her legs under her. “What’d he do?”

“Erm… who even knows anymore, y’know? It’s in the past and all that.” A look from Lup immediate breaks him: “He asked if I was okay.” 

Lup looks like she’s ready to shake the life out of him. Exasperated, she flings herself back at the bed, but makes sure to hold the ice cream so she doesn’t spill it into the sheets. “A hot dude, whomst you’re coincidentally matched by the fucking stars with, asks if you’re alright, and you freeze him out for _how_ many months?? No, don’t answer, just know that you’re damn idiot.”

Even though he’d eat his hat before he’d audibly agree, he sort of does. It was a dick move of him to do that, even if their conversation at the coffee shop established that they’d never see each other again. It was not classy of him. Usually, he doesn’t fucking care about that. He’s Taako, he doesn’t have to be nice. But that fleeting, cold touch and the intense, apologetic eyes keep returning to him, and he can feel the guilt turning and turning in his gut.

“Fuck it, Lup, gimme my stone, it’s on the table.”

 

***

 

It’s five in the evening on a Thursday. Kravitz wrapped up a case yesterday, one that very nearly included Barry but which he made sure to steer elsewhere when it became evident that Barry held no crucial part in the mystery, and he can still feel it in his bones. Therefore, it was a delightful distraction to be invited over for a jam session with Roswell in their apartment.

They’ve been ‘jamming’ for an hour, Roswell teaching Kravitz some basic, modern songs upon Kravitz admitting that he’s not had the opportunity to really practice songs, much less any written within the last century. Roswell is a patient teacher, even if they constantly apologize for how they explain the material. Isaak and his ten-year-old daughter, June, joins them a few minutes past five, June excitedly explaining how Roswell promised to cook lasagna for her – it’s her favorite dish and one her dad doesn’t ever get perfectly right, according to her. Kravitz listens to her explain the minute differences with genuine interest while her curly hair bobs upon her head, and asks if she’s considered becoming a chef, which leads her into another excited rant.

After June has poured out her heart, Isaak laughs and suggests that she lets Roswell and Kravitz show what they’ve been working on. June agrees, and father and daughter take a seat on one of Roswell’s sofas so that they sit exactly opposite to the duo. Charmed, Kravitz and Roswell immediately agree, and play a song Kravitz has gotten enough hold of for Roswell to play with a complimentary melody: ‘Wonderwall’. Kravitz hasn’t heard it before today, but before they begin he hears Isaak groan mildly, and Roswell does throw out an “anyway, here’s ‘Wonderwall’”, which Kravitz now realizes is a joke. He’s got some catching up to do.

They’re on the first chorus when Kravitz’ stone of far speech, which is nestled in his coat pocket on the back of the couch, buzzes softly. Distractedly, he stops playing, tapping Roswell lightly on the shoulder to silently communicate that he’s getting a call, but continues singing as he leaves the living room, only quieting when he steps out into the apartment hall and answers the call. “Please state your business.” He gets all sorts of calls on the stone. Too many times, he is confronted with distraught individuals, who simply thought of death while clutching the stone. Unfortunately for everyone, that is enough to activate the stone to call _him_. He does what he can for these individuals, but most of the time they are too out of it to understand what is going on or immediately hang up, and he ends up replaying the conversation in his head for weeks. 

The person on the other line hesitates for a moment, which is ended with a … slap? It sounds like flesh against flesh, quick, sharp, but not incredibly forceful. Not enough to hurt, probably. “Hey.” If Kravitz’ heart was functioning, it would immediately stop now. He knows that voice. He’d know that voice _anywhere_. “It’s Taako, y’know, your match?”

“Hi.” Kravitz breathes out the greeting, too stunned to hear from Taako to put up a façade of indifference. On the other end, he hears a high-pitched sound, but it’s muffled. It could’ve been a giggle, or it could’ve been some sort of pet. “It’s… it’s been a while.” 

He hears a sigh, but it’s not impatience directed at him. “Yeah, sorry, that’s my fault, isn’t it? Shit, I didn’t mean to be such a jerk, but, uhh, that’s kinda why I’m calling? I wanna… I don’t know, apologize, I guess? I’m not good at this kinda shit, Kravitz, but I was thinking you could… we could _talk_. I feel like we needa talk.”

Kravitz cannot believe his luck. It’s a second chance. “Don’t apologize, Taako, I know you were having… you were having a very difficult time, and I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I knew that was risky; I shouldn’t have said anything." 

There’s another high-pitched noise, followed by a thump. Is there someone with him? “No, no, it’s cool, my man, don’t even fuckin’ sweat it. I was a fuckin’ mess, but that doesn’t excuse it, y’know? And it’s not really fair to just… send you away like that. At the coffee shop, I mean. But, uhh, y’know, homie, I’d rather not do this over the stone. Any chance you could come over or something?”

“Oh! Yes. Yes, absolutely. I am in Goldcliff, actually, so I can probably be over in fifteen minutes.” In reality, he is several hundred miles away, and he could make the trip in less than one minute. The lie feels worse than it is, considering that it would seem like they will get to discuss their situation openly and honestly, but he consoles himself with the promise that he will tell Taako everything, should they agree to stay in touch. And he will give Taako the opportunity to change his mind based on the new information. He can’t imagine it would be easy for anyone to accept that their match is the Grim Reaper.

His response seems to shock Taako, who clears his throat. “Fifteen minutes? That’s totally chill, my dude, yeah, sure, lemme get your digits and I’ll text you the address.” They exchange numbers, Kravitz repeating the numbers to himself like a mental chant because he has left his phone behind in Roswell’s apartment. “Guess I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, homeslice.”

The last nickname earns him a chuckle from Kravitz, who already cannot believe his luck of finding so many incredible people to spend his time with. “Absolutely. I can’t wait. See you then, Taako.” After a ‘see you, dude’, he hangs up, and heads back into the apartment.

In there, Roswell is finishing up the song, the last “you’re gonna be the one that saves me” ebbing out in favor of a final guitar-only bit. Kravitz returns to his seat in the sofa opposite June and Isaak with as little commotion as possible, and manages to fish out his phone and type in Taako’s number before the song is done. At least, he hopes these are the digits that make up Taako’s number. Of course, Taako is meant to text him first, so it shouldn’t really matter, but he likes it this way.

They all applaud Roswell when they finish, June the most enthusiastically. Kravitz feels bad for leaving them, it’s very rude of him, but when he explains his situation (briefly and void of details to avoid awkwardness or embarrassment) they all encourage him to go. He gets a hug from June and one from Isaak, and a fist-bump from Roswell who explains that they’re ‘not a hug person’.

Kravitz leaves the apartment and tears a hole to Goldcliff. As he steps through, his phone buzzes with a text from Taako with his home address. Belatedly, he realizes that he should have asked about Sazed. Wouldn’t Taako’s husband be upset about Taako inviting his match to their home? Would he be _present_? The thought briefly makes Kravitz panic, but then he reasons that although he doesn’t know Taako well, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would spring that on someone – nor does he seem like the person who’d bring his husband to that conversation in the first place. There’s also a chance that Sazed is out of the picture, and that is the possibility Kravitz likes the best. Anyone who uses violence in a ‘disagreement’ with their partner is not a good partner.

Goldcliff is as chilly as the rest of the world seems to be. To Kravitz, that is not a negative. It means that everything feels neutral rather than slightly toasty. Plus, should Taako notice his body heat, he has the cold street to blame. He adjusts the guitar on his back, wondering if he should have stored it somewhere on the astral plane, but reasons that it makes for a good excuse, should Taako start questioning his presence in Goldcliff. Granted, Taako doesn’t know Kravitz isn’t a local, but with so many months gone by without bumping into each other, it would be odd if Kravitz were, and he did make it sound like he’s a secret spy, which would require a bit of travelling. 

Hopefully the lies will end soon. They’re making Kravitz’ mind spin.

He stops by a flower shop on his way. It’s closing up, but he catches the eye of the cashier, who turns out to be a kind and enthusiastic halfling woman. She says she’s taking care of the shop for her wife, who’s sick with the flu, and that she is so unused to the work that it has taken her extraordinarily long to close up. When Kravitz begins to apologize for barging in, she interrupts him cheerfully and argues that she has nothing better to do than help out a stranger. Touched by her kindness, he chooses a simple wildflower bouquet to not waste any more of her time. It turns out imperfect but charming, and he wishes her a happy Candlenights. She shouts out a ‘likewise’ and waves as he steps out of the door, and he waves back. He notes the name of the shop and promises himself to return, should he need another bouquet in the future.

It depends on how things go tonight, he supposes.

Suddenly nervous, he pulls at his collar and wonders if he should change. The suit is black, but his vest is dark green, and his shirt is a lighter green – in fact, the shirt is a lighter shade than anything he has worn in centuries, and he feels self-conscious. The tie is black and void of any patterns of textures to off-set the clean green. It is better than casual clothing for sure, but he still feels as though he will be underdressed. Of course, Taako’s beautiful, enchanting looks will outshine him no matter how he’s dressed, but that he has no problem with.

He walks through Goldcliff to kill time, and when he stands in front of Taako’s door it has been exactly fifteen minutes since their conversation on the stone of far speech. If Kravitz’ body were functioning, he would no doubt feel his heart beating fast, sweat beading on his forehead, and his palms turning damp. Luckily, he has no such functions, so he at least looks entirely in control of the situation when he knocks on the door.

It takes Taako less than five seconds to open it. The elf all but rips the hinges off, and it seems like there’s the beginning of a shout on his lips when he registers who his visitor is. Suddenly, his mouth clamps shut, and his green eyes widen significantly, shifting to look at something inside of the apartment. Kravitz is unexpectedly distracted by the muscle running down Taako’s throat, which stands out significantly because of the movement. His eyes follow its line, and is led to the neckline of Taako’s sweater, which is a garish yellow with a smatter of glitter. It reaches his waist, along with his incredibly long braid, which Kravitz is now infinitely more impressed could stay hidden under the chef’s hat the last time they saw each other. The rest of him is clad in soft, star-patterned leggings and a pair of fuzzy socks. Casualwear. Kravitz is, in fact, overdressed. But the quality of his coat and suit cannot compare with the dark gold of Taako’s hair and the charm of nearly-removed winged eyeliner.

“Hope it’s not too weird to invite you to sit on my bed after you’ve given me that kinda look,” Taako says as he softly leans his hip against the doorframe and folds his arms over his chest. There’s a grin on his face, smug and incredibly intoxicating.

Kravitz is an absolutely lost case. With a self-conscious chuckle, he scratches the back of his neck, movement encumbered by the instrument on his back. “Last time I saw you, you were in your work uniform. It’s nice to see how you dress when you don’t have to adhere to protocol.”

That seems to amuse Taako, who purses his lips to keep himself from smiling. He’s let down by the pulls at the corners of his mouth. “If you weren’t so eager to stop by right away, I could’ve dressed up, but that’ll have to be another time. Not that I blame you, who wouldn’t be psyched to see old Taako?” He gestures to himself.

Kravitz makes no attempt at hiding his own smile, but lets it project warmly from his lips. “I certainly am. These are for you.” The flowers have not enjoyed the weather, but they still look charming, and when Taako accepts them, his warm hand briefly touches Kravitz’ skin.

“Hm, admission ticket accepted,” Taako says, and steps aside so Kravitz can walk into the apartment.

The apartment is a lot smaller than Kravitz imagined a popular chef’s to be. Particularly the size of the kitchen shocks him. He walks straight into the kitchen, and it only takes a few steps to get to the living room slash bedroom, which houses a giant bed, a TV, and a few other pieces of furniture like an armchair, a small table with a laptop on it, and a bookcase. Behind him, Taako closes the door and walks around the kitchen, the clinking sounds suggesting that he’s finding a vase for the flowers. Kravitz takes off his shoes and puts them neatly by the wall in the bedroom. The guitar is placed against the wall, too. Next is his large, woolen coat, which he drapes over the back of the armchair. The apartment is not particularly neat, so he doesn’t think Taako will mind.

Slight squeaking gives him away as he sits down on the bed, which has been hastily made. “I like your home,” he offers, shooting a glance towards the opening between the kitchen and the bedroom, but he can only see a flurry of movement.

A moment later, Taako arrives, vase with flowers in hand. He sets down the flowers on the table, and seems to be momentarily distracted by Kravitz’ coat. “Dang, that’s some good wool,” he mumbles distractedly, fingertips running over the material. Then he snaps his fingers and turns to Kravitz, who watches him with amusement. With flatteringly wide eyes, Taako adds, “That’s a good-lookin’ _man_.” Kravitz is very thankful for his lack of a pulse because he is certain he would have felt heat in his cheeks if his heart were functional.

Instead, he just smiles dumbly and pats the bed. Taako is quick to follow the prompt, his full weight hitting the bed a little harder than what is necessary. They both adjust so that they have one leg bent under them and are faced towards each other. The scene looks like something from a teen movie, but with the … _sparkling_ way Taako is looking at him, Kravitz couldn’t care less. “So… you wanted to talk?” he begins, raising his eyebrows slightly to emphasize his question.

Immediately, Taako groans and looks as though he’s considering flopping directly onto the mattress. Even though it makes him seem like an impudent child, it’s also strangely endearing. His downturned lips have a sheen to them they didn’t have before. Lip balm? And why can Kravitz tell the minute difference in the appearance of Taako’s lips? “Why d’you have to just jump into it like that, Krav? You really wanna ruin the mood here?” he asks, and he sounds half-serious. The frown creases his forehead like delicate silk folded by a tired maid. Kravitz wants to lean forward, though not much is needed to cross the short distance between them, and smooth it with his thumb. 

“Preferably, I would like to build up a … ‘mood’ with longevity,” he responds, and folds his hands on his laps to keep himself from reaching out.

This seems to be the correct answer because Taako’s frown softens, as does the corners of his mouth and his jaw. Overall, he looks softer. Warmer. He is not smiling, but Kravitz can sense the beginnings of satisfaction. “You talk like you’re from a totally different century, homie. It’s like you walked outta a fuckin’ Jane Austen novel. Your last name isn’t Darcy or anythin’ like that, right? Actually, never mind, you’re not a jackass, so Darcy’s not your character anyway.” Green eyes squint thoughtfully at Kravitz as though they’re trying to place exactly what kind of Austen character he would be. They probably are. Kravitz, who has no experience with the novels, though he has heard the name of the author before, just wants to move on to the conversation they’re supposed to be having.

He clears his throat awkwardly, but it’s not enough to snap Taako back to the matter at hand. “Taako, I think you’re getting distracted,” he tries as kindly as he can, but with a voice firm enough to get his point across: we have more important things to discuss. 

The quip arrives promptly: “Sure, you’re the first hot guy I’ve had in my bed for months.” It seems like Taako did not think his words through before they were said, because his grin is slightly delayed.

The joke, coincidentally, addresses something Kravitz is curious about: “So I’m guessing Sazed is out of the picture.”

It is evidently not a person Taako is happy to be reminded of. An expression of… something – a memory? – twitches across Taako’s face before the elf can school his features and look completely unbothered, an expression Kravitz is realizing is his norm. “Yep!” The ‘p’ is popped. “Threw that piece of trash out months ago. It’s been all Taako since.” 

“I’m glad,” Kravitz says with a too-heavy emphasis that makes him embarrassed again. For Istus’ sake, he has lived through several centuries and here he is, all but blushing like a school-boy. The only thing saving his dignity is the fact that he is sure most of the world would blush in front of Taako. And Taako would absolutely love that. “I’m glad to hear that you’ve gotten yourself out of a situation that wasn’t treating you well.”

Taako scoots a little further across the bed, second foot now leaving the floor to fold across the other. With his legs crossed and his hands splayed casually across them, he looks less like he’s about to bolt out of the door. “You’re prolly wondering how I ended up there in the first place, hm?” Three fingers come up to play with a lock of hair that’s come undone from the braid. The movement is so nervous, frantic, that Kravitz once again wishes he could reach out and take Taako’s hand in his. The hair looks inviting as well. 

In response to the question, Kravitz briefly shrugs. Even though he wants to know everything Taako feels comfortable sharing, he doesn’t want to press. If Taako wants to talk, he will talk. “Good people end up in unfortunate situations.”

That earns him a snort. “Listen, I’m not a ‘good person’ by any stretch, my dude, so if that’s a problem, ya better head for the door,” Taako begins, hand dropping to his thigh again.

Relieved to see the shadow of a smile on his face, Kravitz shakes his head softly. Even though he is pretty sure Taako is a better person than he’s admitting himself to be, Kravitz says: “I’m not a good person, either.”

“Good! Excellent!” exclaims Taako, slapping his leg for emphasis. “Anyway, I was tryna open myself up and everything, so maybe next time don’t step on my moment, ‘cause I’ve only got a few of these attempts in me, and if I run out of ‘em, you’re never gonna hear my ass explain anything.” Even though his words are sharp, his tone is not, and Kravitz can hear the nerves playing upon his voice.

Kravitz extends a hand to make a motion for Taako to continue, palm up to make the gesture inviting. The rings on his fingers shine brightly in the light of the few, yellow lamps in the bedroom. For the first time, he realizes that he his choice of accessory has been inspired by the Raven Queen. He would not personally adopt her way of sharpening her nails, but he wonders how Taako would look – such nails would probably go well with his naturally sharpened teeth.

“Alright, cool. Just a disclaimer here: if you tell anyone else this, you’re dead,” (Kravitz has a private moment of humor, which he stows away for another time). “I’m only telling you this ‘cause the situation kinda calls for it, and I’m gonna try this new thing called ‘honesty’, which my therapist says is great or something, I don’t fuckin’ know.” The mention of a therapist is very welcome. It makes Kravitz relax. Taako, on the other hand, is far from relaxed. He’s fiddling with a loose thread on his leggings now, his right knee bouncing nervously. The loose lock of hair has fallen into his face, but he doesn’t seem concerned with wiping it away.

“So, uhh, yeah, I dunno how to say this, exactly, so I’m just gonna… go for it, I guess? Lup, she’s my sister, and I were – ‘guess you could say – pretty fuckin’ homeless when we were kids. It was just the two of us, y’know? The two of us against the world. We kinda had to run around a lot to stay out of foster care. Anyway, it made us pretty weary of the rest of the world. They were all just out to get us, y’know? And we didn’t want anyone to separate us. So, we only had each other for the longest time, and when we could finally start figuring out how to be adults and whatever, she cracked the code on finding friends, but I sorta…didn’t. She’s really nice, and I’m a fuckin’ asshole, which suits me perfectly most of the time, but it means people don’t…s- uh… stick around much.”

He finally brushes the hair behind his ear, but his knee is bouncing uncontrollably now. “So, yeah, when I got my show on the air and started getting attention from the press and everything, I realized that…being the prima donna is a great image that’s gonna get you pretty far, but what gets you really far is people rooting for you. It’s all about finding a balance between ‘asshole’ and ‘lovable’. And I was dating Sazed, so it just…made sense to get married and get some of that sweet, sweet PR. I knew I wasn’t gonna find anyone who was actually gonna like me, much less anyone who’d get involved with someone who isn’t their match. No offence, but you’ve made it pretty hard for me on the dating scene, dude." 

His lips are drying out again. The balm has faded with all of the words and the nervous swipes of his tongue. Kravitz is mesmerized by the movement of Taako’s lips, though he still listens attentively. In fact, he’s never listened closer since the Raven Queen presented her deal to him.

“So, yeah, I figured it was a pretty cool solution, ‘cause I’d never find anyone, who’d like asshole Taako, and I didn’t think I’d be capable of that kinda relationship anyway, ‘cause I’m so used to the world being my enemy that I can’t just…put down my barriers, I guess, that’s how Lucretia, my therapist, phrased it anyway. Sazed didn’t really like me, either, but that just meant he wasn’t gonna leave. That’s why, when you showed up, I shut down, I didn’t wanna consider the possibility of lowering my barriers to someone, ‘cause shit, dude, that’d turn everything upside-down and I wasn’t down for that.”

It seems that his stream of words has come to an end. Kravitz considers it carefully. Lets the water run through his fingers. Feels every drop. They trail down his skin slowly. “Thank you for being so honest with me, Taako, I really appreciate it,” he finally says, and is proud that he has not been too overcome with the situation to be unable to speak. It is a little overwhelming to be coated in Taako’s backstory and deepest fears, but he is less moved by the sensation of sitting with such precious information, and more affected by the fact that Taako would tell him at all. The realization presses at his throat, and he has to swallow around it. 

Carefully, he untangles his hands, and reaches across to catch each of Taako’s in his. The touch is meant to be comforting, but as soon as he feels the incredible warmth of Taako’s skin, he’s reminded of his own temperature – and Taako notices a fraction of a second later, when he instinctively pulls back his hands, away from Kravitz’ offending cold. Or perhaps just away from Kravitz. Even though he is fairly certain that it is not a full rejection, it still delivers the tiniest of stabs to Kravitz’ dead heart.

“Woof!!” Taako unexpectedly exclaims, and for a second Kravitz thinks the shock might have restarted his heart, because he is started to such a degree that he jumps a little on the bed. “Wish you were as hot literally as you are figuratively! Is the weather really that bad?” Taako cranes his neck to look through a window by the head of the bed, and Kravitz takes advantage of the situation by following the line of Taako’s neck with his eyes. “Guess it’s really snowing, huh? Y’wanna share a blanket?”

Kravitz can recognize a desperate search for distraction when he sees one, and this is certainly one, but he is too happy to have been gifted a massive monologue of honesty to call Taako out on it. “That would be great, thank you,” he says, and wonders if this is the moment for him to be honest. Were he alive, his heart would knock impatiently against his ribs. As it is, only his fingers twitch uncomfortably as he considers if there will be a better situation to bring up the fact that he is legally, technically, biologically dead and bound to serve the Raven Queen. Oh, and that he has been dead for about four hundred years. Perhaps five. He has lost count along the way.

Obviously grateful to abandon the serious talk, Taako springs out of bed, just to open a compartment in it and pull out a fluffy, purple blanket. “Catch!” he says and throws it directly at Kravitz’ head. Undead reflexes save Kravitz from the attack, and as he spreads the blanket over his legs, Taako jumps back into bed, pulling the other end across himself. This time, he sits a little closer. Kravitz pulls up his second leg, too, and adopts Taako’s sitting position, though his stiff limbs cannot handle the same wrap Taako’s legs easily fit into. 

Before he has the chance to wrap his hands tightly between the blanket and his legs, Taako grabs them (with surprising strength), and pulls them into his own. He, again, says, “Woof!” Kravitz is forced to shuffle a little closer to save his back, and they’re now sitting so close that their legs are touching. Hopefully, his legs will heat up, too. “What’d you do before you got here, snowman, walk around shaking hands with fuckin’ icicles or something?” 

This is probably the best segue Kravitz will get to discussing his undead status. Once again, his heart should be beating so fast it would make him nauseous. Actually, he’s perfectly nauseous without it. Eyes automatically dropping to the blanket, he summons the courage he will need. There’s a big chance Taako will throw him out immediately and regret all of the honesty he has shared, but if Kravitz doesn’t do this, he wouldn’t be able to look Taako or himself in the eye anymore. The truth must come out. “I believe it is my time to be honest with you, Taako,” he begins, but doesn’t get very far, because Taako immediately interrupts.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been jacking off corpses, ‘cause I’m not into necrophilia. You’d have better luck with my sister’s husband, there. He might relate. Eurgh, okay, I actually didn’t want to think about that.” Taako’s nose is scrunched up in such a way that it takes every ounce of Kravitz’ strength to not gap the space between them and kiss the tip of it. Instead, he shakes his head slightly and smiles.

“No. How would I get to the corpses anyway, they’re all in the ground? Anyway, no, I…”

His scars. They’re a good place to start. Instead of straight up saying ‘I’m cold because I’m dead’, he can take a jumping point in their earlier conversation about his scars – even if that conversation took place months ago. Gently removing his hands from Taako’s touch, he shrugs off his suit jacket. Taako watches him, confusion written clearly in every pore of his skin. His vest is next. Kravitz folds his clothes neatly as he removes it. The tie is the most awkward to remove as he has to make sure it doesn’t get caught in his hair or any jewelry, which is scattered around his hands, ears, and even his hair. He has, perhaps, let the Raven Queen’s theatrical sense of fashion affect him.

It is when he starts undoing the first button of his shirt that Taako snaps back into action. “Not that I don’t like the idea of you being half-naked in my bed, Krav, ‘cause, shit, I _absolutely_ do, but what the fuck are you doing?” Taako’s words inspire a few suggestive thoughts of Kravitz’ own, but he pushes them away for another time, because he has to tackle this right. He can’t get more distracted than he already is simply by the virtue of Taako’s good looks.

Without responding, Kravitz undoes the remaining buttons. Then he pushes the shirt material aside, pulling his left sleeve a little off his shoulder so that it stays where without effort. The right side, he tucks under his right arm. With a stupidly trembling hand, he traces down the scars to alert Taako’s attention to them. They shine white against his dark skin. “I don’t know how much you remember of what I told you about these.”

The reply is immediate, even though Taako is staring with massive interest, considering he has a matching set on his own chest, when Kravitz finally looks at him: “You were a stupid fuckin’ hero and defended someone who was gonna get executed ‘cause they didn’t do it.”

It is so frank that it shocks a laugh out of Kravitz. “That would be… an accurate assessment,” he admits. “I told you… I told you they thought they had killed me and threw me aside on the road, but that I was nursed back to health. That is… not strictly true.” Taako frowns and cocks his head to the side, eyes travelling towards the ceiling as though he’s trying to figure out the mystery before Kravitz spoils the ending. Intrigued by this look on Taako’s face, Kravitz pauses longer than he intended, and only continues when Taako looks back down at him, seemingly still as confused as before. “I _did_ die.”

“Holy shit! That’s metal!” That is… not the kind of reply Kravitz expected. Taako looks so excited, it’s almost a little disturbing. “Did the woman bring you back from death and everything? Did she fight the Raven Queen? I bet that bird-fuck didn’t even see it coming.” 

The world stands still. Kravitz blinks. His whole body is tensed, ready for a fight. _Bird-fuck_. The blasphemous nickname nearly has him enraged, so many centuries spent in the Raven Queen’s service and now granted something similar to a second attempt at life by her… he can’t let that go. “I… Please… please don’t call her that, Taako,” he begs, and works hard to turn his anger into displeasure and discomfort. It takes a lot of effort, but he gets there by staring into Taako’s eyes. That mellows him out. “It… that is so disrespectful, and I… please don’t, that makes me uncomfortable.”

Taako holds up his hands. “Sure, sure, chill, I didn’t think you were such a follower. Makes sense, I guess, with dying and your fashion.” 

“My… my fashion?”

“Yeah, you’re like high-fashion goth. It’s a helluva look, I love it, but it kinda makes you a little bit predictable if you’re a Raven Queen fan.”

“I…” There is not much to say to that. Kravitz blinks again. It is time to find his way back to his original point. “Uh… anyway… No, the woman didn’t heal me or fight the Raven Queen. The woman sort of _was_ the Raven Queen. See, I died. Fully. No going back. But where I went was not the astral plane, it was the ethereal plane. The Raven Queen heard of my sacrifice, and she admired my respect for life. The accused was not supposed to die. Neither was I, so she was not entirely pleased with that, either, but she appreciated that I turned the situation around. So… she offered me a job.”

There is no reaction from Taako. He has his elbow against his knee, head resting on his hand, and he is leaned forward, intruding on the edges of Kravitz’ personal space. There seems to be nothing that could break him away from this moment. He is completely enthralled by the story. And not appalled, which is a relief.

“You have a lot of names for what I do – for what I _am_ , really. The most popular are not favorites of mine. ‘Grim Reaper’ is one. ‘Death’ is another.”

“Oh, _shit_! Holy shit!! You’re the Grim fucking Reaper?? That’s so fucking goth, Lup’s gonna be _pissed as hell_! Shit, Krav!” The excitement on Taako’s face is undoubtedly genuine, as is the grin plastered across his lips that makes Kravitz wants to kiss him senseless, but Kravitz has no idea why his reaction to finding out that his match is a servant of the queen of death is so…gleeful. Taako’s practically bouncing, though, and he’s grabbing Kravitz’ hands again, pressing them against his cheeks in excitement. “That’s why you’re so fucking cold! You’re dead! Istus, I can’t wait to tell Lup, this is fucking amazing. Mind if I call her right now?”

“Uh… sure?” 

Taako gives Kravitz’ right palm a carefree kiss before he drops Kravitz’ hands and throws himself at his phone, which has been lying in the sheets next to him. A second later, he’s got the phone on speakers while calling up a number labelled as “Womb-sharer” with the attached photo of an unflattering candid of a drunk- or sleepy-looking Lup.

“Are you calling me panicked from the bathroom ‘cause you fucked up mildly, or are you calling from the bedroom ‘cause he’s already out of the door?” is Lup’s greeting, and Kravitz is reminded of the high-pitched sounds he heard while on the stone with Taako. Perhaps Taako did have company: Lup.

Taako is too excited to be offended. “Fuck off,” he says with a laugh. “I’m about to make your day a whole lot worse, Lulu: I just won the goth-off. My match is fucking Death!" 

It takes Lup a moment to parse that information. Then she laughs. “Fuck, sure, and I’m Istus. Y’can’t just say shit like that and not back it up, Taako, which I’m pretty sure you can’t, ‘cause it’s pretty fucking difficult to _be_ Death.”

Something about the situation inspires Kravitz to join the conversation. “Not to invade on your sibling rivalry, but Taako is right. I died four hundred years ago,” (Taako almost screams another ‘holy shit!’), “maybe five, I don’t fully remember,” (a softer ‘holy shit’ is heard), “but either way I am dead. When I died, the Raven Queen offered me a position as what you would call the Grim Reaper. If Taako has shown you the scars across his chest, which I imagine he has if he would call you right after discovering this, those are the cause of my death. I’m happy to summon my scythe and rip a tear in the universe to prove it to you.” Taako looks, for lack of better word, star-struck. He’s staring at Kravitz like he’s looking at an actual god. It makes Kravitz a little uncomfortable, but it is definitely a better outcome than being shoved out of the door.

Lup is laughing again. “Fuck. Shit. Well, fuck, yeah, now that you’ve given me the option, of course I’m gonna need to see that shit!”

Right. Related to Taako. He should not have suggested that. Tearing through the fabric of the universe is serious business, and even though it doesn’t have as dire consequences as many pieces of science fiction make it out to be, it’s also not meant to be played with. But he supposes the family of his match is important enough to qualify as an exception.

“I’m going to need to have a little space,” he tells Taako as an explanation for why he slips out of bed. Stretching out his arm, he calls upon his scythe. It appears in a puff of smoke and a flurry of black raven feathers. “You want to see something cool?” he asks, stupidly giddy for a second. It’s surprisingly easy to let himself get carried away by the enthusiasm of the twins. Taako throws his hands out in a ‘duh’ motion, and Kravitz briefly drops his human appearance in favor of his skeletal body. It earns him an excited laugh from Taako, who immediately yells, “Bone daddy, shit!”

“I seriously hope you won’t call me that again,” Kravitz says, a little pleadingly, as he regains his human form.

Taako grins and pretends to shoot his finger guns. “No promises, boner boy.”

Alright, that is objectively worse. Kravitz sighs and carefully raises his scythe to cut a rift. It takes him a brief search for Lup’s soul energy until he finds her. He makes the rift the approximate size of a small window, not big enough for anyone to climb through but big enough to take in the phenomenon. Taako is immediately out of the bed, legs struggling to be freed from the blanket. His balance is momentarily off, and he reaches out to catch Kravitz on his shoulder to save himself from landing flat on the floor. His touch is so warm. But his attention is entirely directed at the rift – and the scene behind it. 

The scene behind the rift is cozy. Lup is lounged in an armchair in a living room lit up by a crackling fire, hand cradling a glass of wine as she’s scrolling through something on the computer. Her phone is lying next to it, on speaker like Taako’s. The calm atmosphere is broken when Taako excitedly yells out: “Told you so!”

Lup shrieks and drops her glass of wine onto a floor, which Kravitz cringes to see is blanket-covered. Her eyes go wide as saucers when she sees the heads of her twin brother and Kravitz in the rift. “What the shit!” she yells out. This family has a problem with volume control, Kravitz notes. Although, he supposes he should have maybe expected a bit of shouting. It’s not every day you meet Death.

Desperate to regain some normalcy in the situation, Kravitz waves awkwardly and says, “It’s good to meet you formally, Lup.”

Lup is scrambling to her feet, much like her brother was a few seconds ago, and approaches the rift. When she’s gotten close enough, she pokes a hand through it and grabs a hold of Taako’s ear and _yanks_. It looks painful, and Taako lets out a high-pitched whimper before he thinks to yell at her to get her to stop. She does, but she still looks shaken. “This is so fucking awesome,” she breathes. As Kravitz should have expected, the next thing out of her mouth is a yell: “Honey!! Babes!! Come down for a sec, there’s something I gotta show you.”

Right. Barry. Sildar Hallwinter. Oh… oh. Kravitz will have to make sure that this isn’t mentioned in any of his books. Few necromancers know of his existence – actually, he would argue no one does – and he’s not interested in having that perk taken away from him by a famous necromancer author.

But Barry does arrive a few seconds later. “Is something wrong? I was just in the– oh.” He’s seen Taako and Kravitz in the rift – and Lup’s manic smile. “That’s… that’s pretty crazy. How are you doing that?” Barry shuffles closer. His calm, soft demeanor is a bit of a relief. The energy of the twins is a lot to deal with already. Kravitz doesn’t want to have to deal with any more, even if the twins are very charming in their own way.

Lup points to Kravitz, nearly poking him on the nose, perhaps forgetting that they are physically as close as they appear. “He’s the one doing it. Remember Kravitz? Yeah, apparently he’s the Grim fucking Reaper.”

Kravitz waves again. “Hi, Barry. Uh, about this: I would really appreciate it if you didn’t write about it. I was sort of supposed to reap you the day I met you all, but I have called off your bounty because you have only technically _written_ the work that many necromancers base their practical work on, and I don’t think it’s fair to blame you for that as long as you remain theoretical, like you advocate for in your works. Anyway, you would really do me a solid one if you kept this out of your works. One of my perks is that no one in the world of necromancy knows I exist, and I would like to keep it that way. You understand that, don’t you?" 

Next to him, Taako is brimming with energy. Barry, on the other hand, still seems calm, even if his eyes are giant behind his glasses, and he nods unevenly. “Y-yeah.” He pushes up his glasses. “Yeah, sure, of course. Ehrm, thanks, for not reaping me and all that… uh, that’s really nice of you.”

 “The Raven Queen and I both agreed, actually, though I must admit I made your case as favorable as it could get. Let us just consider ourselves even if you do not speak of this meeting to anyone, agreed?”

Barry nods again. “Yeah, absolutely, that’s definitely a deal.” 

The atmosphere is… very weird. It might not be every day they meet the Grim Reaper, but it’s also not every day Kravitz is surrounded by so much enthusiastic company. Awkward, he says, “Anyway, I don’t think it is very responsible for me to keep this rift open. I hope this satisfies your desire for proof, Lup, but we must really go now. Have a nice evening and Happy Candlenights.” With that, he puts a hand on Taako’s chest to push him away from the rift, which he is practically hanging through, and then Kravitz closes said rift.

They are left alone. Belatedly, Kravitz realizes his shirt has been open throughout the conversation, but he doubts anyone had the mind to question it considering the circumstance. Still, as Taako flings himself back onto the bed with a hysterical laugh, Kravitz takes a minute to carefully button his shirt and roll up his sleeves neatly. He readjusts some rings, and then turns to face Taako, who’s sprawled across the bedsheets, sweater riding above the leggings and revealing a sliver of golden skin and the slight indent of the lower part of a bellybutton. His long hair is still done up in the braid, but more locks have come loose, and they frame his face like a halo on medieval paintings. Taako could be one such painting. His features seem otherworldly beautiful, as though some genius painter knew how to enhance natural beauty just enough to make it semi-unsettling. When Taako smiles, he reveals the significant gap between his two front teeth. It only makes his looks more striking. It makes him look like some mischievous spirit from a Shakespearian play – a real-life Puck.

“Holy shit, dude,” Taako says for the umpteenth time, tilting back his head to look at the ceiling. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Even though Kravitz is pleasantly surprised by how accepting Taako, and the rest of his family, seem to be of his profession, he doesn’t want to push it. Carefully, he returns to the same spot on the bed, which is next to Taako’s right, legging-clad thigh. “You can understand why I would be apprehensive to become involved with anyone, romantically or otherwise.” While he speaks, Taako rolls his head to the side so he can look up at Kravitz. Even from this unflattering angle, he is more beautiful than any creature Kravitz has ever seen. “But recently the Raven Queen has granted me the opportunity to live my life, so to speak, as I wish, whenever I am not actively engaged in a mission for her.”

The hyper energy from Taako has worn off a little. His eyes are attentive but soft, no longer glazed over by a stream of thoughts. “So, if you wanted to, you could… hang around?” he tries, and his voice is so… genuine. Even though he’s clearly trying to be nonchalant, there is real depth beneath his words, and Kravitz suddenly has the overwhelming urge to lie down next to him and hold him close. But they are barely more than strangers, and he doesn’t want to spook Taako, who is still working on his issues. It is important to respect that this will be a journey. It will not be easy. But nothing worthwhile is. 

With a smile meant to be reassuring, Kravitz nods and says, “I would like to be friends.”

Taako lets out an incredulous snort and lifts himself up onto his elbows, sweater now precariously slipping down his left shoulder. A few pieces of hair collect there, too, falling from somewhere behind his pointed ear. It looks soft and good and domestic, and Kravitz is reminded of how many years he has not lived but simply existed as the right hand of a goddess. Despite how much he loves the Raven Queen, he is discovering that he has forgotten how it feels to really live, and now that he is rediscovering it, he doesn’t think he’ll let go of it easily.

“My dude, you’re not lookin’ at me like someone who just wants to be friends,” Taako announces with a wide smirk. “Which is totally fine by me, but maybe you wanna be honest with yourself there." 

Kravitz laughs, self-aware, and looks down at his hands in his lap. “I think there is truth to that observation, Taako, but…” While he considers how to phrase himself, Taako pulls himself fully upright to mirror Kravitz’ position on the bed. “I want to do right by you. I don’t want to accidentally press too hard and find that I have pushed you away. I think friendship is a good place to start. Don’t you?”

Finally, he looks up, and Taako is staring at him with an unreadable expression. It is unnerving, but Kravitz doesn’t regret anything he has said. When it becomes clear to him that Taako needs a moment to think, he starts counting breaths.

After seven inhalations, Taako finally says: “Sounds good to me.”

Kravitz smiles and reaches out to take Taako’s hands, one in each of his own, skin impossibly hot. “I’m glad to hear it.”


	4. we had no words to say

 Candlenights is a quiet affair. Lup and Barry host the celebrations at their house, and Angus spends the whole night bouncing around from one place to another. It is only the four of them. The twins cook together, though Taako is in charge of recipes. They play music as loudly as Barry deems responsible for Ango’s delicate ears, and while they work in the kitchen, Barry plays with Angus in the living room while explaining the history of Candlenights – the latter part is mostly for his own sake, Taako suspects, because Ango isn’t old enough to truly understand what is being said. All Ango knows is that Uncle Taako is here, that he will get a shrimp, and that there will be presents later.

It is late in the evening when all the presents have been distributed and Ango has been tucked into bed. The adults share wine in the living room, fire crackling in the fireplace. Absentmindedly, Taako registers that it is his first Candlenights without Sazed there, and he wonders if the others have thought about it, too. He feels lighter, and though he has certainly taken advantage of the evening to wear something fun, he doesn’t feel like he has to look his absolute best. There is no pressure upon him to construct a picture of perfection. It is as though he can breathe freely. The realization is strange, because he didn’t realize he was so unhappy.

Caught somewhere between nostalgia and melancholy, he goes to take a sip of his wine when he discovers that his glass is empty. He raises the glass above his head, as an explanation, while he slips out of the armchair to wander into the kitchen to retrieve the next bottle.

The kitchen is dark, but his darkvision makes it a non-issue. Eyes half-lidded from a mixture of exhaustion and the pleasant tingle of alcohol in his veins, he wanders leisurely to the kitchen counter, which he follows to a tall cupboard. Melancholy unexpectedly pulls at and squeezes his heart as he looks for the wine. It is frustrating to experience being unhappy just now that he has noted that he is much happier than he used to be. With a frustrated sigh, he rubs a hand over his face and returns to his quest: wine. The bottle shines softly in the moonlight falling through a kitchen window, and he wraps a hand around it, pulling it out with more force than necessary.

He wonders what Kravitz is doing. They text, here and there. Actually, they text every day, but Taako has not heard from him since yesterday. It is a possibility that the Reaper is busy with a task from the Raven Queen, or even that the astral plane is disturbed in some way on today’s date. Either way, Taako is not worried. Just… lonely. Even with Lup and Barry sitting in the living room, softly laughing at a shared joke, Taako feels incredibly _alone_.

Thoughts still occupied by his Reaper Man, he opens the wine and pours himself another glass. It swirls prettily around in there on account of the momentum. He sits down the wine on the counter, and then leans his elbow against the counter and his head in his hand. Tired eyes watch the wine settle quickly.

After a minute of staring silently, he uses his unoccupied hand to dig out his phone and shoot a text in Kravitz’ direction: _wats a reaperman doing on candlnits?_ It is a dumb idea. Already a second after sending it, he feels the loneliness settle even harder against his intestines. Maybe it is time to tell Lup he’s calling it quits and take a cab home. 

But two minutes later, a reply pings onto his screen, and he scrambles to read the offensively bright screen in the midnight-dark kitchen: _I have been attending to an issue on the ethereal plane. More specifically, I have celebrated the occasion with my goddess and her wife. Sorry, I meant to write you earlier, but phones don’t work on the ethereal plane x_

It soothes his loneliness, but only a tad. It’s not nearly enough. He knows he’s being pathetic and sad, but he sends the next message: _any chance u’d cme pick me up in 5?_ It probably won’t help anyway. It’s been like this before – _he’s_ been like this before – and he should really just go home, curl up in bed, and force himself to go to sleep. Tomorrow, he can forget all of this.

The answer is near-instant this time: _Of course. Are you alright?_

Alright, fuck, a heavy lump grows within him, pressing against the inside of his throat and the underneath of his eyes. Tears. Fuck. He can’t cry. He’s not drunk enough for that. Steeling himself with a heavy gulp of wine, he responds: _yeah fine, c u in 5_.

Left is only to face Lup and Barry. That’s a fucking daunting task, but he’s only given himself five minutes, so he quickly downs the rest of his glass, and saunters back into the living room, leaving the glass on the counter. His sister and her husband are still wrapped up in one another on the couch, more-so now than before he left the living room. Their happy smiles are too bright.

“I’m gonna head home, gotta open tomorrow afternoon,” he slurs out, disguising his melancholy as exhaustion and drunkenness, and stretches. “Donworry, got m’self a ride back home.”

The air outside is cold and sobering. Taako breathes deeply, hoping to banish some of that pathetic sadness in his gut before Kravitz will show up. His knees are cold and nearly start banging against one another under his skirt. The sparkling top does little more to protect him against the freezing temperatures, and he wraps his arms around himself. His breath slithers out of his mouth like white smoke.

Snow crunching is the only thing that gives away his arrival. “You look cold.”

There Kravitz is standing, wrapped in that woolen coat of his, looking completely unbothered by the weather. His dreadlocks are adorned with golden threads in honor of the occasion, and there is a hint of golden shimmer on his eyelids, incredibly subtle as it is. Intrigued, Taako walks closer, feet a little uncertain on the tall heels that boost his height to such a degree that Taako for once has an inch on Kravitz.

Once they are only a foot apart, Taako reaches out to take a hold of one of those golden threads, delicately pulling it out of Kravitz’ hair. The Reaper stands patiently, his dark eyes surveying Taako’s face with matching curiosity. Taako pinches the ends of the thread with either hand, then wraps it around his right pinky, keenly aware of Kravitz’ heavy eyes observing the action.

Finally, he looks up, and the look on Kravitz’ face is intoxicating. Although the world around them is cold, this moment between the them is filled with unspoken heat. It’s not erotic, it’s something deeper and more heartfelt, but neither is it love. Experimentally, Taako reaches up once more, this time snaking his hands around Kravitz’ neck. He is cold, but he is to prefer to the harsh wind. A light pressure is put upon Taako’s hips: Kravitz’ hands have come to gently rest upon them, holding him loosely. It encourages Taako to move closer and closer, until he can feel Kravitz’ unnecessary breath on his bottom lip and smell Earl Grey and see every individual lash on Kravitz’ eyelids. 

His Reaper Man stands ever-still when Taako leans in to bridge the gap between their lips and let them meet with curiosity. They move together, Taako shaking from the cold and Kravitz responding only exactly enough. Taako’s drunken heart beats impatiently in his red-tipped ears when he pulls them apart with a small _smack_. His fingertips come up to trace the bottom of Kravitz’ lip, gently pushing against the soft flesh. 

The quiet is broken then. “You’re going to freeze to death, Taako. Here.” It is entirely unnecessary. They both know that they will be inside Taako’s apartment with a nonchalant sweep of Kravitz’ scythe, but Kravitz still gently frees himself from Taako’s loose embrace to shake off his coat and wrap it around Taako’s shoulders. Feeling as though he’s moving inside of a dream, Taako slips his arms into the sleeves and pulls the flaps close around his middle, nearly drowning in the fabric on account of Kravitz’ larger build. The smell surprises him. It is not smoke or death or even more Earl Gray. It’s subtle and hard to pinpoint. Skin, he supposes. It just smells like the taste of Kravitz’ skin.

“Let’s get you home, dear Puck,” Kravitz then says, and Taako is about to ask him about the mumbled nickname when Kravitz wraps an arm around his middle and calls upon the scythe, with which he cuts a hole in reality.

 

***

Kravitz is lying next to him, though on top of the covers, when Taako wakes the next day, eyes closed with a serene look on his face. It takes Taako’s bleary eyes a minute to readjust to the harsh light, which spills through windows that have not been curtained, but he stubbornly takes in the sight of sleeping Kravitz, who has abandoned his outer layers in favor of a buttoned, wine-red shirt, black slacks, and black socks. All of his golden garnishes have been left on the bedside table, including the threads – except for the one wrapped safely around Taako’s pinky. His hair falls around his face in a haphazard manner that is infinitely charming to see on a man otherwise so preoccupied with appearing as put-together as possible, the ultimate opposite of Taako’s approach to fashion.

“Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once.” Even though Taako was convinced Kravitz was asleep, he is not shocked to hear him speak softly. The words themselves, though, are puzzling, and Taako shuffles closer to Kravitz to hear them spoken more clearly. The Reaper still keeps his eyes closed, but there is a serene smile on his face, as though he has discovered the secrets of the universe and is happy to report that it has great things in store. “The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid will make or man or woman madly dote upon the next live creature that it sees,” Kravitz continues, and it dawns upon Taako’s sleepy, hungover mind that Kravitz is quoting from something, though he can’t figure out what. Taako doesn’t do reading, and definitely not for fun.

Then Kravitz opens his eyes, and his smile becomes even fonder, eyes glinting with mirth and happiness so potent Taako has to remind himself to keep breathing. His Reaper Man gives new meaning to the word ‘hot’, that’s for fucking sure. “ _A_ _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ ,” Kravitz finally explains, voice still as soft as when he was quoting Shakespeare. “How is your head?”

“It’s fine.” ‘Fine’ usually indicates that Taako is lying, but this time he’s not: elves don’t experience hangovers the same as humans. They’re much less incapacitating, even if his mind does get sluggish and takes a moment to piece itself together. “Although, I don’t know, if you keep quoting dead guys at me I might have to fake a headache. Does it come with the job to be hung up on writing from like four hundred years ago?”

He doesn’t expect Kravitz to react negatively, but when Kravitz tilts back his head to laugh, Taako’s heart skips unexpectedly and he finds himself smirking, self-satisfied with what was apparently a good enough joke to earn such an enchanting sound from Kravitz. “I think you have forgotten that _I_ am from four hundred years ago,” he points out, voice brimming with affection that Taako would have run away from, screaming, less than half a year ago, but which now draws him even closer, legs now touching through the blankets.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get with the times, old man.” Taako means for it to come out louder, more mischievous, more like he doesn’t really care about what’s happening in the air between them, but his voice is so low and careful.

Instead of answering, Kravitz just hums and raises his hand to pick softly at Taako’s hair, which was piled on top of his head last night but now is a tangled mess. Taako takes advantage of Kravitz’ shift of attention to map his face with sleepy eyes, quietly challenging himself to memorize every dip, every curve, every fold. Especially his lips, full and broad and incredibly soft (Taako knows the latter from experience), have Taako’s attention.

After a few moments, he breaks. Shifting a little closer, he raises his own hand to cup Kravitz’ jaw. The coolness of his skin is less like that of an icepack and more like that of a kitchen counter in a sun-drowned room. And when he closes the distance, Kravitz’ lips are even softer than the night before, and they move with more enthusiasm, and soon the kiss is deepened, tongues sweeping past lips and soft gasps running along delicate skin, Kravitz’ fingers delving into Taako’s hair to cradle the back of his head, Taako’s fingertips twitching pleasantly against Kravitz’ jaw.

They lie there and forget about themselves and the world and the conversations to be had and the years to be loved and just embrace as the warmth of Taako’s tongue, lips, hands seep into the pores of Kravitz’ skin, slowly heating him from the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! There you go. That was my dumb, little soulmate au that ran away with me. I might be tempted to write other scenes for it, or other pairings for the same universe. I'm not sure. Or I'll leave it here and write other things in the future, we'll see!


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